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THE   LIFE    OF   A   STAR 


THE 
LIFE  OF  A  STAR 


BY 

CLARA    MORRIS 

AUTHOR   OF 
LIFE  ON  THE  STAGE 


NEW  YORK 

McCLURE,   PHILLIPS  &  CO. 

MCMVI 


Copyright^    I  go  6^    by 
McClure,  Phillips  ds"  Co. 


Publiihed  May,  igo6 


Copyright,  1905,  by  International  Magazine  Company 
Copyright,  1905,  by  The  Curtis  Publishing  Company 
Copyright,  1904-1905,  by  The  New  York  Herald  Company 
Copyright,  1902-1903-1904-1905,  by  The  S.  S.  McClure  Company 
Copyright,  1903-1904,  by  Cosmopolitan  Publishing  Company 


TO  STARS 

those  sister  ivomen  who  tasted  sorrow  and 
defeat  before  they  won  success,  I  dedi- 
cate these  memories  with  a  clasp  of 
the  hand,  and  the  hope  that  they  may 
reign  long  and  happily. 
CLARA  MORRIS 


PREFACE . 

To  all  those  who  were  kindly  patient  readers  of  that 
first  book,  "  Life  on  the  Stage,"  greeting — sincere 
and  grateful  greeting. 

Since  then  I  have  at  least  learned  enough  of  the 
great  profession  of  letters  to  be  afraid.  That  first 
book  was  calmly  offered  out  of  the  boundless  courage 
of  perfect  ignorance — this  one  is  held  out  to  you  in 
a  hand  unsteadied  by  a  tumultuous  and  most  anxious 
heart. 

Feeling  that  interest  in  my  personal  story  must 
have  ended  with  girlhood's  successful  struggle  for 
air  and  light  and  an  equal  chance  with  others,  it 
seemed  best,  after  noting  my  marriage,  about  which 
some  of  the  gentlest  critics  thought  I  showed  "  a 
curious  reserve,"  to  devote  most  of  my  space  to  mem- 
ories of  people,  more  likely  to  prove  interesting  to 
the  world  at  large. 

That  these  memories  are  such  mere  "  shreds  and 
patches  "  is  the  fault  of  a  star's  manner  of  life. 
Never  does  she  pass  more  than  two  weeks  in  a  city — 
oftener  but  one; thus  a  meeting, a  greeting, and  a  part- 
ing about  describes  her  existence.  And  the  conse- 
quence, in  this  instance,  is  a  book  that  suggests  one 
of  those  small  kaleidoscopes,  dear  to  our  childhood, 


viii  PREFACE 

wherein  those  short  sketches  of  mine  become  the  bits 
of  coloured  glass — green  for  hope,  blue  for  faith,  red 
for  courage,  purple  for  power — and  in  placing  it  in 
your  hands,  I  can  only  hope  that,  aided  by  your  good 
will  and  Imagination,  the  many  coloured  bits  may  slip 
into  patterns  and  images  that  are  pleasing  to  the  eye 
without  being  wholly  an  optical  illusion. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  An  Actress  on  Guard 3 

11.  I  Am  Married 21 

III.  I    Stand   between   Lady   Macbeth   and 

Matrimony 37 

IV.  The  Moxa 55 

V.  Riddle   of   the    Nineteenth    Century: 

Mr.  Henry  Bergh 69 

VI.  Sarah  Siddons's  Tryst 93 

VII.  Garfield 103 

VIII.  The  Shadow  of  the  Temple  .      .     .     .  115 

IX.  Brilliant  Failures 136 

X.  A  Crucial  Moment     ......  146 

XI.  Rachel 168 

XII.  The  Mormon  Banquo 191 

XIII.  Major  McKinley — A  Memory     .      .      .  204 

XIV.  A  Convert  to  the  Play 218 

XV.  A    Chip    of    the     Old     Confederacy: 

JuBAL  A.   Early 233 

XVI.  A  Hunt  for  a  Play 253 

XVII.  Some  Reminiscences  of  L.  Q.  C.  Lamar  278 

XVIII.  Looking   Backward 295 

XIX.  Alessandro  Salvini 308 

XX.  From  Sand-Dune  to  Mountain-Top     .  329 

XXI.  A  Memory  of  Dion   Boucicault     .     .  352 

ix 


THE    LIFE    OF   A    STAR 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD 

WHEN  a  young  actress  struggling  for  the 
highest  place  attains  it;  when  she  has 
made  a  great  and  sudden  success  in  a 
part,  and  the  play  is  settling  into  its  stride  for  a  long 
run,  people  suppose  her  position  is  settled  and  secure 
for  years  to  come.  They  imagine  her  triumphant, 
free  from  care  or  anxiety  of  any  kind,  sinking  to  rest, 
wrapped,  as  it  were,  in  clouds  of  glory,  only  to  arise 
to  delicate  feeding  and  deep  draughts  from  cups  of 
praise;  for,  you  see,  she  has  made  a  great  hit;  the 
struggle  is  past  and  she  has  nothing  now  to  fear,  they 
think.  And  right  here  I  should  like  to  carol  a  few 
light  notes  of  incredulity — tra-la-la!  Because  in  one 
case,  at  least,  it  was  all  so  different;  and  I  know,  oh, 
yes,  I  know  quite  well — for  see  now,  there  were  two 
special  nights,  and  on  one,  at  eight  o'clock,  a  girl, 
wide-eyed,  poorly  dressed,  just  out  of  the  great  West, 
and  absolutely  without  one  friend  in  it,  faced  New 
York  City  in  chill  terror.  The  next  night,  at  eight 
o'clock,  the  same  girl  faced  pleased  recognition  in  a 
myriad  of  beaming  eyes;  a  forest  of  outstretched 
hands  and  a  sea-like  roar  of  welcome  that  shook  her 
to  the  heart.  I  know,  because  I  was  that  girl. 

Well,  that  was  success — unadulterated,  amazing 
success;  and  for  a  little  time  I  rested  upon  it,  con- 
tent, happy,  and  very  grateful — but  not  dazzled,  not 


4  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

cniijrht  up  in  golden  clouds,  not  overpowered  as  by  a 
miracle.  And  I  noticed  the  odd  looks  that  were 
turned  upon  me  after  curtain  calls,  overheard  com- 
ments as  to  the  "  easiness  "  with  which  I  took  this 
success,  and  as  to  my  awful  lack  of  appreciation,  cold 
bloodedness,  etc.  And  while  they  wondered  at  me, 
so  I  wondered  at  them ;  for  in  my  verdant  young  ig- 
norance this  was  my  true  thought :  Why  do  they  make 
such  a  to-do  over  this?  I  acted  in  Cleveland  and  in 
Cincinnati,  and  did  my  best,  and  people  cried  and 
gave  me  calls;  and  here  I  have  a  good  part,  and  do 
my  best,  and  the  people  forgive  the  burr  in  my  speech, 
and  cry,  and  applaud.  What's  the  difference?  I  see 
nothing  so  wonderful !  Oh,  dear  heaven !  Oh,  loyal 
and  woolly  little  Westerner!  Yet  that  was  my  true 
thought. 

Then  one  day  one  high  in  the  journalistic  world 
sent  me  an  enormous  number  of  papers  from  far  and 
wide,  from  Canada  to  Florida,  from  east  to  west, 
and  lo !  each  and  every  one  of  them  had  reprinted  at 
a  column's  length,  each  of  the  New  York  papers'  ex- 
pressed opinion  of  the  Western  actress's  debut  in  the 
metropolis.  Many  had  editorial  comment  as  well, 
and  then,  Indeed,  my  calm  was  shaken.  A  great  awe 
crept  over  me.  Well  I  knew  I  was  of  no  interest  to 
all  the  readers  these  papers  represented.  It  was  New 
York,  the  great,  the  powerful,  the  nerve-centre  of 
this  whole  broad  land,  and  New  York's  opinion,  that 
interested  the  entire  country.  Had  the  metropolis 
gibed  at  me,  contemptuous  laughter  at  my  ludicrous 
presumption  would  have  run  north,  south,  and  west 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD  5 

like  the  crackling  of  thorns  in  the  fire.  My  knees 
trembled  at  the  thought.  My  simple  trust  in  my  own 
honest  best  was  gone.  All  my  careful  study  in  trying 
to  make  one  scene  seem  the  logical  outcome  of  an- 
other seemed  wasted.  I  had  suddenly  been  lifted  high 
into  popularity  by  the  whim  of  the  first  city  in  the 
land — powerful,  brilliant,  changeable.  Ah,  there  was 
the  rub — changeable!  I  had  sprung  up  in  a  single 
night.  What  had  happened  once  might  easily  happen 
again.  I  knew  no  more  of  security.  From  that  mo- 
ment I  began  to  peer  into  the  future,  watching  for 
the  woman  there  just  out  of  sight  who  waited  for 
my  shoes;  and  I  straightway  resolved  never  to  be 
dragged  down  from  the  high  place  that  had  been 
given  me,  but  at  the  first  sign  of  frown  or  weariness 
to  descend  at  once,  without  tear  or  remonstrance, 
showing  only  gratitude  for  what  had  been.  And  there 
and  then  began  that  interminable  chain  of  prayers 
with  which  I  wearied  heaven,  that  I  might  be  pre- 
pared; that  when  my  successor  came  I  might  feel  no 
resentment,  no  bitterness,  no  rancour.  And  to  show 
how  near  this  came  to  being  a  fixed  Idea  with  me, — 
as  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  weeks  without 
rehearsals, — I  at  once  took  up  certain  studies,  under 
teachers,  that  when  my  place  was  taken  by  another, 
widened  and  varied  interests  might  lessen  the  chance 
of  heartbreak.  Having  then  got  around  to  the  view- 
point of  the  ladies  of  the  company,  I  tried  to  show 
them  my  new  appreciation  of  the  marvel  of  my  suc- 
cess, here  in  their  city,  and  they  seemed  much  grati- 
fied. One  evening,  as  we  waited  in  the  greenroom, 


6  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  conversation  turned  upon  the  many  prominent 
actors  and  actresses  New  York  had — to  use  the  green- 
room vocabulary — "  sat  down  upon."  Someone 
named  Ehza  Logan,  who  had  been  held  as  one  of 
the  greatest  actresses  of  her  time,  but  her  disastrous 
appearance  here,  at  her  husband's  theatre,  was  said  to 
have  broken  her  heart. 

"  Ah,  but  she  was  so  ugly  to  look  at  I  "  said  one  of 
the  older  ladies.  "  Something  very  near  genius,  but. 
Lord,  how  ugly!  " 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  there  was  Miss  Julia  Dean," 
and  was  roughly  interrupted  by  the  one  person  in  the 
company  who  was  systematically  unkind  to  me  with : 
"  You  know  nothing  of  Julia  Dean  !  " 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  know  her  personally,"  I  an- 
swered, "  but  through  Mr.  Jefferson,  Mr.  EUsler 
and  Mr.  Owens  I  have  heard  of  her  delicate,  fair 
beauty." 

"  She  was  the  loveliest  woman  on  the  face  of 
God's  earth!"  came  in  aggressive  second  Interrup- 
tion. 

And  then  a  calm,  slow  voice  from  the  far  end  of 
the  room  was  saying:  "  It's  your  careful  moderation 
of  speech,  old  man,  that  always  appeals  to  my 
Bostonian    training.     A    tender    reticence    in    these 

days "   and   the   rest   was   drowned   in   general 

laughter. 

"  But  could  she  act,  your  beautiful  Julia  Dean?" 
called  out  the  deer-eyed  Dietz. 

And  in  chorus  came:  "  No!  "— "  No  !  "— "  A 
little!"— "Not  a  bit!"  While  my   "Oh,   yes  she 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD  7 

could !  "  tumbling  out  the  last  of  all,  I  went  on :  "  Of 
course,  her  beauty  counted  highest  in  her  success  else- 
where, and  the  goodness  that  people  say  seemed  to 
emanate  from  her  like  perfume  from  a  flower.  And 
she  could  act,  too,  with  grace  and  dignity  and  sweet- 
ness such  parts  as  Julia  and  Parthenia  and  the  younger 
Shakespearean  heroines!  But,"  I  sighed.  ("But?" 
came  back  the  chorus  with  every  head  ashake.) 
"  But  it's  queer,"  I  continued,  "  Miss  Logan  had 
genius,  and  she  was  rejected.  Miss  Dean  had  beauty, 
and  she,  too,  was  rejected.  It's  hard  to  guess  what 
New  York  wanted !  " 

"  Oh,  no;  that's  easy!  "  cried  my  foe,  and  with  a 
bitter  sneer  added,  "  She  was  waiting  for  yoii,  my 
dear!" 

I  laughed  quickly  to  hide  my  hurt,  and  answered: 
"  Ah,  yes !  I  see.  You  mean  that,  having  neither 
beauty  nor  genius,  I  stand  between  the  two,  a  living 
fountain  of  regretful  tears,  and  as  such  arouse  the 
attention  even  of  New  York?  " 

As  everyone  knew  mine  had  been  a  success  of 
tears,  a  shout  of  laughter  broke  forth  that  was  like 
balm  to  my  hurt.  The  thrust  had  been  meant  to 
wound,  and  I  want  to  say  for  myself  that  if,  as  peo- 
ple used  laughingly  to  declare,  I,  like  some  others, 
went  through  life  with  a  rapier  of  mockery  ever  in 
hand,  at  least  I  never  failed  to  keep  the  saving  button 
of  good  nature  firmly  attached  and  made  no  thrust 
with  a  naked  point. 

The  season  was  getting  on  to  its  last  quarter.  I 
was  still  safe,  but  one  day,  as  I  swept  the  horizon  with 


8  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  great  glass  of  anticipation,  I  believed  my  rival 
had  come  into  view. 

She  hailed  from  England,  and  I  closed  my  eyes  as 
I  thought  how  great  must  be  her  ability  and  value  to 
be  thus  sent  for  across  the  ocean.  I  heard  that  she 
was  blond — artificial  or  natural  deponent  saith  not, 
— and  verily  I  bowed  my  head,  for  unseen  blonds  are 
always  fascinating. 

Now,  my  prayers  had  gone  steadily  on  all  this 
time,  and  though  their  sincerity  was  beyond  doubt, 
there  had  been  a  somewhat  marked  compactness  and 
brevity  about  them  until  the  golden-haired  dramatic 
wonder  had  set  sail  to  conquer  New  York  and  thrust 
her  rosy  toes  into  my  shoes,  when  they  suffered  a 
sudden  expansion  of  explanations,  of  entreaties,  of 
promises,  of  iterations  that  might  well  have  won  for 
me  a  thump  on  the  head  from  an  aerolite;  and  while 
I  was  still  desperately  preparing  for  the  worst,  she 
came. 

The  bills  were  up.  Mr.  Daly  read  advance  notices, 
and  summoned  the  French  prompter.  A  French 
prompter  for  an  English-speaking  company  was  one 
of  Mr.  Daly's  unappreciated  jests,  for  if  any  actor 
"  stuck  for  the  word  "  he  stayed  stuck  till  the  curtain 
fell,  or  the  season  closed,  or  he  died,  or  something, 
because  the  French  prompter  couldn't  follow  the 
MS.,  or  if  he  did  he  couldn't  pronounce  the  needed 
word.  Well,  he  summoned  the  prompter,  and  charged 
him  to  be  careful  about  ringing  the  curtain  correctly, 
as  he,  Mr.  Daly,  would  be  over  at  the  other 
theatre. 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD  9 

I  turned  cold,  my  shoes  seemed  to  loosen  on  my 
feet,  the  actors'  eyes  went  through  me  like  skewers, 
and  then  the  awful  night  was  half  over !  Our  house 
was  large,  but  I  had  to  goad  myself  along  to  keep  up 
to  the  standard  demanded — and  then  Mr.  Daly 
came  back.  His  lips  were  drawn  down  contemptu- 
ously. Mrs.  Gilbert  met  him,  and  seemingly  ques- 
tioned him.  He  waved  his  hand  as  if  dismissing  some- 
thing, and  giving  a  short  laugh  came  on  to  me. 

I  said  faintly:  "  You  are  back  early,  sir?" 

"  Not  early  enough,  though !  "  he  snapped. 

"  You  were  disappointed?  "  I  asked  surprisedly. 

He  gave  me  a  quick,  sharp  glance.  "  Damnably!  " 
he  answered  briefly.  "  She's  a  sort  of  dramatic  bol- 
ster— smother-voiced — shapeless — characterless !  " 

"  But — but,"  I  almost  whispered,  "  she  is  blond." 

"  Well,  good  Lord !  you  can't  make  an  actress  out 
of  a  wisp  of  hair,  can  you  ?  "  I  smiled  a  little.  I  knew 
tears  were  rising  to  my  eyes,  and  I  turned  away.  But 
he  took  me  by  the  chin  and  turning  my  face  back  to 
him,  looked  at  me  a  moment;  then  with  a  mocking 
laugh    he    said:  "You    are    a    sharp    young    piece, 

but "  He  ran  his  little  finger  up  and  down  my 

nose,  "  but  this  seems  all  right — not  disjointed  yet, 
eh?"  I  seemed  to  be  whirling  round  and  round.  I 
caught  for  a  moment  at  the  managerial  arm,  and  held 
tight,  and  he  said  quite  gently  and  kindly:  "  What  a 
little  fool  you  are !  There's  your  cue !  "  And  for  the 
time  I  was  safe  !  Yet  never  did  I  cease  my  silent  watch 
for  the  unknown  woman,  beautiful  and  gifted,  who 
was  coming,  slowly  or  swiftly  I  knew  not,  but  surely 


TO  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

coming,  to  say  to  me:  "  Your  shoes,  please.  I  am  the 
new  choice  of  the  city,"  and  I  should  answer:  *'  With 
pleasure,"  even  If  I  choked  blue-black  In  the  face  over 
the  gracious  falsehood. 

The  second  season  was  drawing  to  a  close.  I  had 
played  many  parts  and  still  held  my  place  with  the 
public,  that  especially  after  the  burning  of  our  home 
theatre  had  been  so  good,  so  very  good  to  me,  that  I 
could  have  knelt  down  and  bumped  my  forehead  at 
Its  feet,  after  the  Oriental  fashion,  in  expression  of 
my  gratitude.  We  were  rehearsing  a  new  play.  My 
fears  were  almost  in  a  doze;  only  now  and  then  I 
swept  the  distant  horizon  for  a  sign,  and  contentedly 
putting  down  my  glass  one  day,  lo !  I  ran  straight 
against  her  on  our  own  stage — the  creature  in  whom 
we  all  saw  my  probable  successor. 

That  later  happenings  may  be  better  understood 
I  must  explain  here  that,  in  one  way  from  first  to  last, 
I  was  ever  the  cause  of  travail  of  spirit,  of  anxiety,  dis- 
tress, and  anger  to  Mr.  Daly;  and  though  I  was  sorry 
from  my  very  heart,  I  could  in  no  wise  help  him  or 
myself  for  not  being  foreign-born,  or  foreign-trained. 
I  could  only  act  at  night,  within  the  magic  fiery  circle 
of  foot  and  border  lights;  and  to  his  orders,  to  his 
entreaties  that  I  should  act  a  scene  at  rehearsal,  with 
those  guying  brother-and-sist'er  fiends  of  mine  sitting 
about,  "  laying  for  me,"  I  could  only  beg,  explain  and 
finally  declare:  "  You  must  either  trust  me  or  dismiss 
me,  sir.  I  can  die,  but  I  can't  act  In  daylight!  " 

After  his  delight  in  the  mad  scene  of  "  Article  47," 
which   had  never  once   been   rehearsed   in   full,   he 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD  1 1 

vowed  he  would  always  trust  to  the  faint  Indications 
of  the  rehearsed  scene.  But,  alas,  as  soon  as  a  new 
part  was  in  hand  his  fears  returned,  his  anger  rose,  my 
tears  fell,  and  the  old  battle  was  on  again. 

"  Madeline  Morel  "  called  for  a  long  cast.  Every 
gentleman  in  the  company  with,  I  think,  one  excep- 
tion, was  in  it,  and  all  the  ladies  as  well,  and  among  us 
a  funny  thing  happened.  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  a  mere 
scrap  of  a  part — a  peasant  woman — and  when  the 
time  came  she  played  it  with  such  a  wealth  of  detail 
and  such  skill  that  it  loomed  up  a  real  character 
study.  Still  the  part  was  a  scrap,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert — 
did  not  like  it.  Miss  Fanny  Morant,  whom  both  Mr. 
Wallack  and  Mr.  Daly  considered  the  best  player 
of  great  ladies  then  on  the  stage,  had  a  very  import- 
ant French,  grande-dame,  mother  part,  but  she — did 
not  like  it.  Miss  Fanny  Davenport  had  a  part  that 
might  have  been  written  for  her  to  star  in:  French 
actress,  gorgeous  costumes,  no  morals  to  speak  of,  but 
a  dazzling  wit  and  a  good  heart.  Heavens!  you 
could  fairly  hear  the  applause  as  you  read  it,  and  she 
cried  loudly  she — did  not  like  it.  Miss  Sara  Jewett 
had  a  part,  a  stainless,  lovely,  convent-bred  girl,  striv- 
ing to  aid  the  stricken  heroine,  and  she — did  not  like 
it.  And  I,  the  subdued,  the  silent,  I  read  over  the 
part  of  Madeline.  Her  character  was  not  sharply 
drawn,  was  wobbly,  uncertain,  Illogical.  Well,  open 
confession  is  ever  good  for  the  soul,  and,  by  gracious, 
/  said  I  didn't  like  my  part  either!  A  long-faced 
dark-browed  group  we  were,  when,  creeping  like  a 
snail,    the    generally    quick-moving,    dapper   Jimmy 


12  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Lewis  came  in,  paler  than  ever,  his  small  face  puck- 
ered as  if  frost-bitten.   I  asked: 

"  What's  the  matter,  Jimmy?  Sick?  " 

He  glared  at  me,  held  out  a  roll  of  MS.  and  said: 
"Sick?  No!   It's  that  d part!  /  don't  like  it!" 

There  was  a  lightning-like  exchange  of  glances  and 
then  a  wave  of  hysterical  laughter  surged  through 
the  room  that  drowned  every  complaint  of  every 
part,  and  we  presently  resorted  to  the  stage  to  begin 
work,  as  pleasant-faced  a  crowd  of  actresses  as  any 
stage-manager  could  wish  to  meet;  while  Lewis,  the 
non-comprehending,  blinked  helplessly,  muttering : 
"  Well,  I'm  hanged,  if  the  whole  gang  hasn't  gone 
crazy!  " 

One  part  required  a  special  engagement.  The  char- 
acter was  that  of  a  very  young,  only  daughter  of  a 
noble  house;  pretty,  spoiled,  spirited,  as  well  as  spirit- 
uelle,  and  desperately  in  love  with  her  fiance.  We 
had  young  people  that  were  handsome,  but  they  were 
too  settled,  too  stolid,  not  in  the  least  mignonne,  and, 
although  this  part  only  lasted  through  one  act,  it  was 
really  very  important.  A  young  lady  had  been  en- 
gaged, but  she  could  not  be  present  at  the  first  re- 
hearsal, so  Mr.  Daly  proceeded  to  read  her  part. 
That  was  not  an  uncommon  thing  to  do  and  had  he 
confined  himself  to  reading  alone  all  had  been  well. 
But  no,  he  must  needs  act  the  girlish  passion,  the 
pettish  changeableness,  and  so  placed  the  company 
upon  the  rack. 

Mr.  Crisp  and  I  looked  on  in  wicked  joy,  for  we 
had  been  the  last  victims  of  his  passion  for  arranging 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD  13 

and  directing  love  scenes.  Never  shall  I  forget  that 
last  moment  when  we  on  the  stage  made  love  to  Mr. 
Daly's  shouted  orders  from  the  front  of  the  house. 
Poor  Crisp — a  very  good  lover  by  the  way — perspir- 
ing and  red  and  mad,  held  me:  "Oh,  hold  her 
closer!  "  cried  Mr.  Daly  disgustedly.  "  Relax,  Miss 
Morris,  relax !  " 

"  If  I  relax  another  bit,"  I  groaned,  "  I  shall  go 
down  flat  on  the  floor!  I  can't  relax  any  more  and 
stand  on  my  feet  I  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  stand  on  your  feet,"  came 
roaring  back.  "  He  should  support  you  completely. 
Take  her  around  the  waist,  man,  and  draw  her  to 

you,  and — for  God 's  sake.  Crisp,  what  are  you 

scratching  her  back  like  that  for?  " 

It  was  the  end.  I  dropped  flat  on  the  stage  in  help- 
less laughter,  while  Crisp  dashed  off  into  a  dark  place 
where  he  said — I  have  been  told — many  very  repre- 
hensible things,  while  the  company  held  on  to  the 
scenery  and  laughed! 

And  now,  oh  now  !  here  was  this  tall,  gaunt,  brown- 
moustached  man,  crowned  with  a  shocking  bad  hat, 
casting  his  long  arms  about  the  shrinking  shoulders 
of  handsome  George  Clarke — matinee  god  and  good 
fellow — who  simply  writhed  under  Mr.  Daly's  com- 
mand to  put  more  warmth  Into  his  work;  and  while 
we  strove  to  keep  our  glee  from  breaking  forth  in 
sound,  just  when  Clarke's  ears  were  red  enough  to 
light  matches,  and  Mr.  Daly  was  doing  his  cooing, 
coquettish  best,  there  broke  upon  the  air  a  high  and 
crackling  laugh.  We  were  aghast!   Mr.  Daly  threw 


14  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

up  his  head  angrily:  "What  was  that?  Who  did 
that?  "  he  demanded  looking  about. 

At  a  little  distance,  tall  and  stately,  stood  the  gen- 
tle and  reserved  Charles  Fisher,  with  wide,  amazingly 
innocent  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  as  he  answered 
composedly  :  "  I  did  it,  sir — I — that  is — er,  there  are 
certain  incongruities  between  the  words,  and — er  your 
appearance,  that  are,  well — er,  that  are  infernally 
funny,  sir." 

We  waited  for  the  bolt — it  never  fell.  There  was 
a  slight  twitching  of  the  managerial  lips,  but  dignity 
carried  him  to  the  near  end  of  the  act.  Clarke  tried 
to  walk  aside,  but  our  chief  fiend,  that  crowned  king- 
player  of  pranks,  Louis  James,  was  at  his  side  In  a 
flash,  gravely  and  courteously  commending  Clarke's 
last  effort,  assuring  him  that  the  love  scene  with  Daly 
was  both  tender  and  chaste. 

The  next  day  the  newcomer  was  there,  and  before 
rehearsal  was  over  I  was  conscious  of  danger,  while 
everyone  else  was  startled  and  amazed,  for,  you  see, 
this  young  girl  was  about  eighteen  and  looked  even 
younger;  a  mere  slip  of  a  girl  with  a  graceful,  wand- 
llke  figure.  Her  mignonne  face,  with  delicately  mod- 
elled features,  was  lighted  up  with  long-lashed  hazel 
eyes.  She  had  wavy,  yellow-brown  hair,  and  a  dimple 
did  the  rest.  A  charming  little  empty-headed  child 
she  seemed,  who  chattered  the  whole  morning 
through  about  the  beauty  of  the  wonderful  wedding- 
gown  she  was  to  wear,  and  her  hopes  of  being  pret- 
tier than  her  bridesmaids,  etc. 

And  then  her  act  came  on  and  we  began  to  sit  up 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD  15 

and  take  notice.  Instead  of  merely  reading  her  part 
with  bright  understanding,  she  indulged  in  little  airs, 
graces  and  affectations ;  in  tripping,  mincing,  and  pos- 
ing; and  once  when  Mr.  Daly  said:  "  No,  no.  Miss 

V !  that  is  a  trifle  too  knowing,"  she  swiftly  and 

cheerfully  exclaimed,  "Oh,  do  you  think  so?  Well, 
perhaps  a  bit  of  the  baby-stare  manner?" — and  In- 
stantly lowered  her  head  slightly,  arched  her  brows, 
and  lifting  rounded  eyes,  stared  with  the  pretty  blank- 
ness  of  a  very  young  calf  or  a  baby  that  has  just 
emptied  a  bottle. 

A  man  behind  me  exclaimed:  "Good  Lord!  what 
nerve !  "  and  the  Boston-bred  one  standing  alone  near 
the  bare  wall  took  his  hat  off  and  bowed  deeply  and 
gravely.  But  when  the  love  scene  came,  and  she  began 
to  warm  to  her  work;  to  bill  and  coo  and  gurgle; 
to  cast  her  slender  self  about  In  lovely  poses ;  to  clasp 
her  hands  and  roll  her  eyes;  then  it  was  that,  figu- 
ratively speaking,  Mr.  Daly  prostrated  himself,  with 
his  brow  In  the  dust,  before  the  creature  found  at 
last,  who  could  act  at  rehearsal,  and  let  a  man  know 
what  he  was  to  expect  at  night.  He  was  plainly  en- 
raptured. People  looked  curiously  my  way,  and 
I  smiled  my  self-defensive,  try-to-look-pleasant 
smile,  until  my  face  ached  from  the  strain. 

Soon  George  Clarke — the  champion  lover  of  that 
day — began  to  find  his  occupation  pretty  nearly  gone, 
this  little  maid  insisting  upon  doing  most  of  the  love- 
making  herself,  wreathing  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
clinging  to  his  shoulder,  or,  as  he  viciously  put  It, 
"sagging"   from  his  shoulder;  but  the  thing  that 


1 6  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

most  ap;p;ravated  that  manly  actor  was  a  little  trick 
of  throwing  her  arms  about  him  bodily  just  above  the 
elbows,  thus  holding  him  a  helpless  and,  he  felt,  a 
ludicrous  prisoner.  And  when,  one  day,  Mr.  Daly 
called  out,  "  Embrace  her,  George!  What's  the  mat- 
ter that  you  stand  there  like  a  post?  Embrace  her!  " 
"  Well,  I  will,"  answered  Clarke,  with  unfailing 
gentleness,  but  with  murder  in  his  eye.  "  I  will  if  the 
lady  lets  go  of  my  arms  long  enough  to  give  me  a 
chance,"  adding  in  a  lower  tone  to  the  too,  too  ardent 
one:  "  Say,  you'll  make  this  a  sort  of  '  catch-as-catch 
can  '  scene  for  me  if  you  don't  stop  clipping  my  arms 
like  that."  And  when  the  act  ended  he  came  off 
shooting  his  cuffs,  straightening  his  coat  and  tie,  and, 
turning  his  back  to  one  of  the  gentlemen,  with  a  pet- 
ulant laugh  asked:  "  Say,  is  that  girl  all  off  me  yet? 
Just  give  me  a  brush-off  to  make  sure."  Ah,  such  are 
the  trials  of  leading  men ! 

As  time  went  on  we  all  saw  Mr.  Daly's  growing 
interest  and  delight,  and  we  all  wondered  what  Miss 
V would  not  do  when  under  the  triple  inspira- 
tion of  lights,  of  music,  and  of  audience.  I  took  into 
account  her  Dresden-china  beauty,  her  extreme  youth, 
her  remarkable  aplomb,  and  loosened  the  latchets  of 
my  shoes,  while  quite  unconsciously  I  fell  into  the 
habit  of  taking  mental  farewell  of  many  things.  So 
we  all  waited  the  new  favourite,  and  only  the  Boston 
man,  ever  silent,  smiled  grimly  and  sometimes 
laughed  with  his  face  to  the  wall.  And  so,  heavy  of 
heart,  I  dressed  for  the  first  performance.  The  new- 
found little  pearl  of  promise  did  not  appear  till  late 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD  17 

In  the  evening.  Everyone  was  on  edge,  at  his  or  her 
best.  The  play  moved  steadily  on  in  a  rising  cres- 
cendo of  passion  and  grief.  Clarke's  love  scene  with 
me  (I  being  sweetheart  No,  i)  had  been  beautifully 
tender  and  sincere.  Louis  James  was  at  his  smiling, 
polished  best,  showing  all  the  implacable  cruelty  of 
the  reformed  rake,  and  our  unequal  but  desperate 
struggle  tightened  spectators'  nerves  almost  to  the 
breaking  point;  and  so  prepared,  the  great  farewell 
speech  swept  the  house  like  a  tornado.  Always  chary 
of  allowing  his  people  individual  "  calls,"  Mr.  Daly 
shouted  at  last  against  the  increasing  applause  "  All 
right — take  It,  and  be  hanged  to  them !  "  And  as  I 
advanced,  holding  grateful  hands  out  to  the  first 
spray  as  It  were  of  that  Niagara  of  applause,  my 
heart  contracted  with  the  violence  of  physical  pain. 
Something  whispered  maliciously,  "  Make  the  most 
of  It — it  may  be  the  last.  This  time  to-morrow  night 
they  may  be  waiting  impatiently  to  greet  with  joyful 
cries  the  dainty  loveliness,  the  youthful  charm  and 
brilliant  acting  of  the  yet  unseen — the  newcomer." 
In  spite  of  all  honest  preparation  tears  must  have 
rushed  Into  my  eyes,  because  I  saw  all  the  smiling 
crowd  dimly  as  through  a  fog  or  mist,  and  in  answer 
to  some  faint  remonstrance  from  within  I  said:  "  But 
she  will  have  no  need  of  power  of  invective,  of  de- 
vouring rage.  Her  manager  will  select  plays  fitted 
to  her  powers,  when  once  he  hears  the  mighty  city's 
choice."  One  m.oment  I  closed  my  eyes  and  swayed 
helplessly,  for  the  draught  of  renunciation  was  very 
bitter  in  the  sv/allowing,  whatever  sweetness  might 


iS  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

follow  later  on.  And  then  in  a  sort  of  woful  grati- 
tude, with  pallid  smiles  I  bowed  myself  away,  and 
someone  remarked  in  a  low  voice,  *'  She's  nigh  to 
breakin'  down,"  and  another  asked,  "Overwork?" 
but  the  first  made  answer,  "  Naw,  guess  she's  scared 

over  that  Cathedral  scene,  because "  and  no  more 

I  heard,  nor  should  have  heard,  had  they  shouted, 
for  I  was  staring  at  a  slender,  graceful  figure,  whose 
trailing  white  satin  glory  and  crown  of  orange  blos- 
soms alone  told  me  who  she  was. 

The  lovely  Sara  Jewett  passing  by  exclaimed,  "  Did 
you  ever  see  such  a  mask  of  make-up?  " 

Ah,  that  was  it!  A  cruel,  extinguishing  mask  of 
unnecessarily  heavy  pastes,  powders,  paints,  po- 
mades !  The  delicate  modelling  of  her  small  features 
was  lost  beneath  it.  In  very  truth  the  too  intense 
white,  red  and  black  suggested  at  a  distance  a  baby 
clown's  face. 

"My  dear!  my  dear!"  expostulated  Miss  Mo- 
rant,  "  you  have  time  in  plenty.  Run  back  and  change 
your  make-up.  Your  smooth  child's  face  requires  but 
a  mere  dust  of  powder  and  a  touch  of  rouge.  Run, 
make  the  change  and  be  your  fresh  young  self 
again!  " 

But  she  replied  quite  positively,  "  Oh,  I  couldn't 
think  of  such  a  thing!  I'm  made  up  by  the  French 
method,  which  is  absolutely  correct,  as  I  suppose  you 
know?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  stately  Morant,  "  I  had  not 
known,  but  I'm  ever  pleased  to  sit  at  the  feet  of 
youth  and — learn!" 


AN  ACTRESS  ON  GUARD  19 

Most  people  would  have  curled  up  at  that  tone, 

that  manner,  but  Miss  V simply  turned  on  the 

baby  stare  and  curled  not  at  all.  They  were  ringing 
up.  I  saw  Mr.  Daly  hurrying  to  his  lair  in  the  first 
entrance.  How  many  times  I  had  seen  him  there  to 
await  my  difficult  scenes,  his  eyes  anxious,  his  face 
palely  rigid,  and  his  long  fingers  clutching  desper- 
ately at  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  Now  he  watched  with 
eyes  alight,  a  smiling  face,  and  apparently  he  did  not 
know  there  was  a  lapel  on  his  coat — such  was  the 
comfort  derived  from  one  who  could  act  by  daylight. 

The  crowd  of  bridesmaids,  mincing  and  preening 
about  the  bride  like  a  flock  of  pigeons,  was  charming. 
Then,  then  the  smile  on  Mr.  Daly's  face  began  to 
fade;  he  looked  puzzled.  And  no  wonder,  for  there 
seemed  to  be  no  elan,  no  glow.  Aplomb  so  exagger- 
ated as  this  might  easily  pass  for  indifference!  Mr. 
Daly  leaned  forward  and  whispered  sharply,  "  Wake 
up !  "  and,  yes,  he  grabbed  at  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 
For  the  love  episode  was  on  and  what  was  the 
matter?  There  were  the  graceful  poses,  the  twining 
and  embracing,  the  tender  protestations,  all  exactly 
as  they  were  rehearsed — and  no  more.  Yes,  that  was 
it — wo  more!  She  had  done  her  very  best,  let  herself 
all  out  by  day,  and,  with  nothing  in  reserve,  seemed 
mechanical  at  night. 

The  scene  was  lightly  applauded.  Mr.  Daly  pulled 
his  hat  down  to  the  tops  of  his  ears,  and  suddenly  the 
scales  fell  from  my  eyes.  And  instead  of  the  radiant, 
all-gifted  rival,  who  was  to  push  me  from  my  stool, 
I  saw  a  very  pretty,  over-confident  young  girl — that 


20  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

was  all.  A  great  relief  swept  over  me.  A  sudden  new 
strength  thrilled  me.  Afraid  of  the  next  act?  Non- 
sense !  I  w^as  afraid  of  nothing  now — I  was  re- 
prieved.   I  would  show  my  gratitude. 

It  was  a  great  night,  a  glorious  one,  and  after  all 
the  noise  was  over,  Mr.  Daly  said,  "  Good  girl!  you 
never  did  better  in  your  life."  And  I  treasured  the 
words,  for  if  he  praised  but  seldom  he  was  always 
sincere.  With  unspeakable  extravagance  I  sent  for 
a  cab,  that  I  might  get  safely  home  all  my  many  floral 
monstrosities  and  a  few  bunches  of  long-stemmed, 
unskewered  roses.  And  as  the  horse  seemed  to  be 
walking  in  his  sleep,  I  leaned  back  and  thought  these 
true  thoughts:  "  Oh,  I  am  safe  now;  and  shall  be  for 
some  time.  This  play  is  sure  of  a  run.  The  unknown 
can't  materialise  before  the  first  of  next  season.  I 
have  suffered  two  false  alarms,  but  that  must  not 
prevent  me  from  watching  out  for  the  real  one." 
For  though  I  was  happy,  very  happy,  and  found  a 
new  success  ineffably  sweet,  back  of  it  all  was  that 
woman  out  there,  waiting  just  beyond  sight  in  the 
near  future,  who  precisely  as  I  had  risen,  in  a  single 
night,  might  in  a  single  night  supersede  me;  so  let 
me  be  prepared,  dear  Lord!  And  that  was  the  con- 
siderable alloy  I  found  in  the  joy  of  being  a  success- 
ful leading  lady. 


II 

il   AM   MARRIED 

THERE  Is  no  habit  more  tenacious  than  the 
habit  of  work.  Once  acquire  it,  once  let  It 
fasten  its  powerful  fangs  upon  you  and  you 
are  helpless.  You  may  never  "  loaf  "  and  invite  your 
soul.  You  cannot  lounge  about  with  your  hands  in 
your  lap  doing  nothing  all  the  fair  long  day.  In 
reality,  to  the  victim  of  the  working  habit  there  are 
no  long  days,  they  are  all  short  days — yes,  and  they 
are  short  at  both  ends.  Like  many  another  I  realised 
my  danger  when  too  late. 

When  I  came  to  New  York  and  the  continued  run 
of  a  play  left  me  some  hours  of  the  day  without 
work,  I  Immediately  went  forth  and  hunted  work 
to  fill  them  up  with,  and  'twas  thus  I  came  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  Monsieur  Fasquelle  of  France, 
who  had  so  much  anxiety  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
his  brother-in-law's  hat  and  the  butcher's  candlestick. 
An  excellent  grammarian,  M.  Fasquelle,  but  a  bit 
eccentric  as  a  conversationalist  it  always  seemed  to 
me.  I  saw  my  danger  then,  but  the  habit  was  already 
too  strong,  and  alas,  it  is  not  broken  yet.  Therefore, 
it  is  perhaps  not  surprising  that  when  I  began  to  star, 
finding  considerable  time,  in  which  I  used  to  study 
plays,  unoccupied,  I  turned  my  attention  to  the  subject 
of  matrimony.  And  let  me  say  here,  that  the  actress, 
even   the   sentimental   one,   generally   arranges  her 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 


^ 


marriage  with  brevity,  celerity  and  dispatch.  She 
cannot,  for  her  life,  bring  herself  to  look  upon  her 
wedding  as  a  matter  of  world-moving  importance, 
as  does  the  girl  in  private  life,  who,  judging  by  her 
own  excitement,  pride,  display  and  momentary  su- 
premacy, decides  that  her  marriage  is  nothing  short 
of  a  social  cataclysm. 

Late  in  the  '6o's,  actors  still  had  their  costumes 
carried  to  and  from  the  theatre  in  champagne  baskets 
by  the  basket  boy,  and  the  very  first  and  most  im- 
portant duty  of  the  actor  or  actress  after  rehearsal, 
was  to  get  the  basket  ready  and  place  it  outside  the 
door.  Then,  only,  one  might  feel  free.  Well,  Cupid 
had  been  taking  a  little  flyer  behind  the  scenes,  and 
a  young  comedian  had  been  stricken  with  love  for  a 
bit  of  a  girl  who  danced  between  the  first  play  and 
the  farce.  One  day  he  saw  the  old  leader  of  the 
orchestra  tap  her  cheek  with  his  bow,  and  the  awful 
familiarity  was  too  much  to  be  endured  silently. 
He  walked  home  with  her,  and  In  the  boarding-house 
hallway  he  spoke.  A  minister's  name  was  mentioned 
— a  number — a  street — something  about  an  oflice,  a 
license;  nothing  seemed  very  clear  except  his  love 
and  his  desire  to  get  married  at  once:  "  Oh,  Lizzie, 
will  you  marry  me?  Dear  little  Lizzie,  will  you?" 
he  Implored.  And  Lizzie,  who  was  about  the  height 
of  a  nine-year-old  child,  but  was  full  sixteen,  very 
pink  and  very  pleased,  looked  coyly  up,  then  modestly 
down  and  answered:  "  I'm  awful  glad  you  love  me, 
Ted — but — but  really  you  know  you'll  have  to  wait 
a  little." 


I  AM  MARRIED  23 

Down  went  Ted's  face.  "Wait?"  he  cried,  In  a 
tragic  voice.  "Wait?  Good  kingdom,  why — what 
for — how  long?  " 

And  Lizzie,  with  wide  reproachful  blue  eyes,  said : 
"  Why,  Ted,  you  know  well  enough — you'll  have  to 
wait  till  I  get  my  basket  ready!  " 

And  when  he  heard  the  thump  of  that  article  at 
his  sweetheart's  door,  he  issued  forth  from  his  room 
— tied  the  strings  of  her  bonnet  under  her  chin,  and 
they  sallied  forth  and  were  married.  And  it  is 
gratifying  to  know  that  that  knot  was  not  only  simply 
and  swiftly  tied,  but  securely,  too — for  though  they 
endured  many  hardships,  faced  many  troubles,  lost 
two  wee  lambs  from  the  little  flock  sent  them,  while 
the  blackest  kind  of  a  small  goat  was  spared  for 
them  to  struggle  with,  yet  the  sorrow  and  shame  of 
divorce  came  never  near  them,  never,  and  love  lasted 
while  life  lasted. 

Another  actress-bride,  here  in  New  York  city, 
being  unable  to  leave  town,  though  the  heat  was 
appalling,  was  married  In  the  parlour.  In  a  "  golng- 
away  gown  of  pale  grey,"  the  papers  said,  and  the 
reverend  gentleman  who  had  officiated  having  de- 
parted, straightway  the  bridal  pair  also  went  away 
upon  their  wedding  journey — away  upstairs — up 
a  ladder — through  a  scuttle — out  upon  the  roof, 
where  a  hammock  swung  between  the  chimneys.  The 
bride  ensconced  herself  and  was  sweetly  served  with 
ice-cream  and  angel  cake  by  a  very  handsome,  kneel- 
ing groom,  who,  finding  the  gravel  cruelly  hard  and 
sharp,   folded  the  napkin  into  a  pad  and  placed  it 


^4  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

beneath  his  bruised  knee.  And  when  the  cream  and 
angel  cake  were  gone,  their  honeymoon  rose  and 
found  them  there  with  enwreathing  arms  and  waving 
palm-leaf  fans,  still  at  their  banquet,  but  now  supping 
of  the  nectar  of  confessed  love;  each  listening  eagerly 
to  the  other's  tale  of  how  and  when  and  where  the 
first  spark  of  love  flew  into  an  innocent,  unsuspecting 
heart.  Nor  was  the  element  of  danger  quite  absent 
from  this  wedding  journey.  For  the  bride  was  a 
large  woman,  though  a  darkly  handsome  one,  large 
was  she  and  heavy,  and  the  scuttle  was  small,  the 
ladder  almost  straight  and  weak  to  shakiness.  There 
was  an  earnest  discussion  along  toward  dawn  as  to 
which  one  should  first  descend,  and  finally  the  bride 
declared  for  the  groom's  advance:  "  You  see,  should 
I  stick  fast,  dear,  you  might  half  starve  up  here,  be- 
fore our  condition  was  discovered.  But  if  you  go  first 
and  I,  in  following,  stick  fast,  you  are  ready  to  give 
the  alarm  and  call  upon  the  fire  department  for  as- 
sistance— for  scuttles,  I  think,  are  In  the  line  of  fire 
work." 

So  she  came  last,  and  though  most  of  the  rounds 
of  the  ladder  came  down  with  her,  she  was  safely 
back  from  her  wedding  journey.  Three  weeks  after- 
ward, at  a  birthday  dinner  on  Staten  Island,  I  sat 
opposite  this  bride.  Our  hostess  had  been  speaking 
of  favourite  places  on  the  Hudson,  and  suddenly  she 
asked  of  my  vis-a-vis:  "Your  honeymoon  was  on 
the  Hudson — so  sensible,  and  did  you  go  up  or 
down?  " 

Pushing  a  tiny  bone  from  the  fish  on  her  plate, 


I  AM  MARRIED  25 

she  answered,  calmly:  "  I  went  up,"  then,  as  all  the 
blood  In  my  body  seemed  to  be  pumping  up  into  my 
face,  she  gave  me  a  reproachful  look  and  added: 
"  Don't  you  admire  the  country  about  Newburgh?  " 
And  that  woman  prides  herself  upon  her  truthful- 
ness. 

In  contrast  to  these  two  rather  exceptionally  abrupt 
ceremonies,  I  recall  the  fact  that  at  the  first  wedding 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  attending  in  New  York  the 
young  girl-bride  had  so  worn  out  her  strength  in 
preparations,  in  shopping,  in  fittings,  in  receiving 
and  acknowledging,  in  planning  and  arranging  and 
rehearsing,  that  grave  doubts  were  expressed  by  the 
family  physician  of  her  ability  to  pass  through  the 
church  ceremony  and  the  home  reception  without 
collapsing  utterly.  And  the  bridesmaids  found  them- 
selves shouldered  about,  as  they  declared,  by  doctor 
and  nurse;  and  when  the  maid  of  honour  came  to  en- 
treat for  the  frantic  groom,  one  word  with  the  bride, 
one  single  word,  just  through  the  merest  crack  of  the 
door — that  tormented  young  person  burst  forth  with 
a  "No!"  and  a  passionate  declaration  that  she 
*'  wished  she  had  never  seen  him;  and  if  he  sent  her 
another  message  she  would  never  look  at  him  again, 
as  long  as  she  lived!  " 

There  were  nerves  for  you.  And  oh,  the  pity  of  it  I 
I  saw  a  small  bottle  of  chloral  slipped  Into  the  travel- 
ling bag  of  that  bride. 

Yes,  the  girl  in  private  life  and  the  actress  hold 
widely  different  views  of  weddings — weddings  mind 
you,   not  marriages.    An   actress   loves  as  warmly, 


26  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

promises  as  truly,  hopes  as  fairly  as  does  the  outsider 
who  makes  the  ancient  vow  that  is  yet  ever  new, 
"To  love,  to  honour,  to  obey!"  Only  the  girl  In 
private  life  often  finds  In  her  wedding  her  sole  op- 
portunity for  personal  display.  It  Is  her  day  of  power 
and  authority;  when  she  plays  the  leading  part; 
when  she  Is  the  head  and  the  front,  the  beginning  and 
the  ending.  When — as  a  slangy  little  woman  re- 
marked to  me  a  week  or  two  ago — she  Is  the  bride 
and  the  bride  Is  the  whole  show.  Hence  her  joy  In 
the  great  spectacular  wedding.  But  the  actress  Is  on 
exhibition  every  day  of  her  life.  She  Is  a  mimic  bride 
ov^er  and  over  again;  and  to  a  sensitive  woman  there 
Is  almost  an  immodesty  in  a  public  wedding  for  an 
actress. 

All  of  which,  when  the  time  came,  I  elaborately, 
carefully  and  I  hope  lucidly  explained  to  the  family 
of  my  adoption.  The  wonder  to  me  is  that  I  ever 
married  at  all.  In  the  first  place,  my  love  affairs  ran 
a  course  so  far  from  smoothness,  so  tangled  and  so 
rough,  that  a  map  of  them  would  resemble  the  net- 
work of  gullies  a  heavy  rain  storm  cuts  in  garden 
paths  and  driveways.  Then  again,  I  got  a  bad  start 
in  matrimonial  proposals — those  cats  not  only  spoiled 
the  first  one,  but  seemed  to  some  extent  to  have 
hoodooed  the  others.  You  are  sceptical,  perhaps, 
because  I,  who  was  not  beautiful,  speak  of  lovers  and 
proposals;  but  you  should  not  be,  for  the  woman 
who  is  plain  and  knows  it  often  sees  in  her  plainness 
a  challenge  from  fate,  and  if  she  amiably  and  gaily 
takes  it  up,  is  apt  to  win — well,  lovers,  among  other 


I  AM  MARRIED  27 

things.  Many  women  are  in  love  with  love  before 
the  special  lover  arrives  upon  the  scene,  and  while 
there  is  flirtation  that  is  silly  and  flirtation  that  is  cruel 
there  is  too  that  flirtation  which  means  attention 
without  intention,  that  is  quite  a  charming  pastime, 
and  one  that  is  popular  alike  with  homely  or  hand- 
some women.  Only  the  beauty  often  says  to  herself, 
after  a  new  conquest :  "  It's  this  lovely  mask  he  cares 
for.  If  my  hair  became  thin;  if  my  skin  became 
sallow,  my  eyes  dull,  would  he  care  for  me  then? 
Could  I  hold  him?  While  the  woman  whose  mirror 
shows  her  perhaps  only  clear  eyes  and  generous 
wholesomeness,  knows  that  keenest  triumph.  It  is 
/  whom  he  cares  for!  I — my  very  self!  For  here  is 
no  rare  beauty  of  feature  or  colouring  to  attract  his 
eye! 

Well,  beautiful  women,  who  are  the  flowers  of  the 
human  race,  can  afford  to  suffer  a  mild  twinge  or  two : 
they  have  only  to  look  Into  the  nearest  pair  of  eyes 
to  find  comforting  admiration  and  be  happy  again. 
But  oh,  what  a  tragedy  is  the  fading  of  a  great 
beauty!  A  splendid  creature  once  lost  her  nearest 
and  dearest,  and  she  brought  herself  to  say:  "The 
Lord  gave — the  Lord  taketh  away — blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord !  "  But  when  her  beauty  began 
to  fade,  with  startling  rapidity,  she  stood  before  her 
glass,  in  the  presence  of  a  friend,  and  forcing  a  smile, 
she  said;  "Ah,  well — the  Lord  gave — the  Lord 
taketh  away — b-blessed — oh,  I  can't — I  can't,"  she 
shrieked,  "  I  can't  bless  His  name !  Why — oh,  why 
give  me  beauty,  only  to  rob  me  of  it?    It's  cruel — • 


2  8  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

cruel!  "  One  who  saw  that  agony  of  loss  expressing 
itself  in  uncontrollable  cries  and  writhings,  must  have 
felt  that  sometimes  one  pays  a  penalty  for  being 
unusually  beautiful.  Yet  I  truly  believe  that  no 
woman  would  be  deterred  even  by  such  a  sight  from 
wishing  to  be  fair  to  see. 

Did  you  ever  open  your  mother's  Bible  without 
finding  a  pressed  rose  or  a  pansy  or  a  violet  there? 
To  you  it  looks  yellow  and  dry  as  dust  and  meaning- 
less, but  she  knows  what  you  do  not,  and  it  is  rich 
with  the  colour  and  sweetness  her  memory  endows  it 
with.  Just  so  a  woman  has  closed  between  the  long 
past  years  the  love  affairs  of  her  girlhood.  Mere 
names,  chill,  meaningless  they  may  seem  to  you,  but 
her  memory  gives  to  them  eye-sparkles,  smile-flashes, 
the  swift  word,  the  knightly  act;  and  no  matter  what 
change  time  and  the  world  may  have  wrought 
upon  those  men,  they  remain  ever  young,  ever  ad- 
mirable! 

For  my  part,  when  I  sort  out  my  own  little  bunch 
of  beaux  I  feel  now  a  sort  of  maternal  tenderness  for 
them,  and  my  tormenting  spine  almost  straightens 
itself  with  pride  as  I  recall  the  fact  that  every  man- 
jack  of  them  made  his  name  stand  for  something 
worth  while,  and  wrote  it  high  enough  to  be  clearly 
read  by  his  fellow  citizens,  before  retiring  from  the 
great  struggle  we  call  life.  The  demands  of  my  pro- 
fession received  my  first  consideration;  therefore,  in 
the  character  of  sweetheart  I  was  pretty  severely 
criticised  now  and  then,  while  as  a  friend  I  was  de- 
clared a  creature  of  superlative  perfections. 


I  AM  MARRIED  29 

One  resentful  male  creature  remarked,  as  he 
grabbed  his  hat:  "Love?  Love's  nothing  but  a 
miserable  little  side-issue  in  your  life — and  yet  some 
donkey  has  written  that  love  is  only  an  incident  in  a 
man's  life,  and  is  the  whole  world  to  woman!  Much 
he  knew  about  it!  " 

John  Cockerill,  after  kicking  the  hassock  down 
stairs,  declared  that  if  all  girls  were  as  prudent  and 
cautious  as  I  was,  every  cottage  in  the  city  would 
be  for  rent,  and  a  wedding  would  become  a  nine- 
days'  wonder — while  a  soldier  solemnly  vowed  that 
every  single  time  he  tried  to  deploy  his  tenderest 
sentiments,  his  admiration  and  his  love  before  me,  I 
left  the  reviewing  stand  to  see  if  a  wig  was  properly 
dressed  for  the  night,  or  pulled  a  part  over  to  me, 
to  make  quite  sure  of  my  lines  in  some  infernal  stage 
love  scene.  But  out  of  the  detritus  of  grumbling  loves 
what  splendid  friendships  came!  Frank  and  true 
and  lasting  to  the  grave! 

It's  curious,  too,  the  way  in  which  my  small  love 
affairs  are  all  tangled  up  with  certain  plays.  My 
taking  of  a  husband  is  so  tied  up  with  the  production 
of  "  Macbeth  "  that  I  simply  can't  think  of  my  wed- 
ding without  hearing  a  swirl  of  the 

"Around,  around,  around,  around — 
About,  about,  about,  about "     .     .     . 

music  of  the  witches'  cave  scene.  Dear  me — dear 
me!  how  those  two  memories  do  braid  themselves 
together!   First  of  all,  it  was  the  man  I  was  engaged 


30  THE  LIFE  OF  A   STAR 

to  marry — Mr.  John  A.  Cockcrill — who  gave  to  Mr. 
F.  C.  Harriott  his  letter  of  introduction  to  me.  Then, 
to  our  mutual  joy  and  happiness,  John  and  I  snapped 
our  bonds  and  became  our  peaceable,  law-abiding 
selves  again.  That  becoming  known  to  Mr.  Harriott, 
he  concluded  that  he  would  now  enter  the  lists — 
which  was  right  enough,  only  his  courtship  would 
have  been  much  simplified  if  Lady  Macbeth  had  not 
come  upon  the  scene  at  almost  the  same  time — for 
place  aiix  dames.  The  lady  was  the  first  considera- 
tion. What  a  state  of  mind  I  was  in  to  be  sure !  I  could 
not  accept  the  traditional,  martial-stalking  drum- 
major  of  a  woman,  who  spoke  in  sepulchral  stomach 
tones,  and  splashed  about  in  blood,  as  though  she 
were  quite  used  to  it;  who  spoke  of  dashing  out  the 
brains  of  her  suckling  babe  with  a  fiendish  satisfac- 
tion in  her  own  nerv^e.  That  made  her  final  remorse- 
ful breaking-down  of  brain  and  heart  a  contradiction, 
almost  an  impossibility. 

Discussion  of  the  famous  character  grew  warm, 
reached  the  papers,  and  even  the  public,  in  the  person 
of  "  Constant  Reader,"  "  Old  Play-goer  "  and  "  Ver- 
itas," wrestled  with  the  great  question  anent  the 
masculinity  or  femininity  of  Lady  Macbeth. 

Occasionally  my  view  of  her  character  met  with 
approval,  but  oftener  I  got  a  rap  over  the  knuckles, 
by  being  sharply  reminded  that  my  age  and  inex- 
perience only  fitted  me  to  follow,  not  to  lead.  That 
Mrs.  Siddons,  Miss  Cushman,  Madame  Janauschek, 
had  clung  to  a  traditional  Lady  Macbeth,  and  that 
was  the  only  one  the  public  knew  or  wanted.   I  meekly 


I  AM  MARRIED  31 

reminded  "  Veritas  "  that  Mrs.  Sarah  Siddons,  late 
in  life,  had  herself  declared  for  a  distinctly  feminine 
Lady  Macbeth,  fully  confessing  the  error  of  her 
own  characterisation,  but  adding  she  had  not  the 
courage  to  alter  the  presentation  the  public  knew  so 
well. 

An  actress  in  the  West,  who  was  not  overburdened 
with  reverence,  once  remarked  in  my  hearing,  that 
''''Lady  Macbeth  was  a  fraud;  that  if  the  part  were 
given  out  without  a  name,  any  decently  fair  actress 
would  accept  it  without  a  second  thought,  but  tack 
on  the  nam.e  Lady  Macbeth,  and  the  best  pair  of 
knees  in  the  profession  would  begin  to  tremble.  Be- 
sides, the  part  was  greater  to  write  about  than  it  was 
to  act,"  in  her  opinion. 

There  was  truth  in  the  first  part  of  that  assertion; 
there  is  a  sort  of  traditional  terror  that  wraps  Lady 
Macbeth  about  as  with  a  robe.  You  find  all  the 
greatness  of  the  mighty  Pritchard,  Siddons,  Cush- 
man,  and  the  rest  looming  up  between  you  and  the 
part  you  are  studying;  they  and  their  business,  their 
reading  of  certain  lines:  Siddons — " /F^  fail?" — 
Cushman — "Give  me  the  daggers!"  go  whirling 
through  your  brain.  You  feel  smaller  and  smaller, 
and  worst  of  all,  those  great  traditions  are  frighten- 
ing you  away  from  Shakespeare's  Lady  Macbeth. 
You  forget  you  have  the  same  material  to  build  with 
that  they  had — Shakespeare's  own  words.  That  you 
have  the  right  to  construe  those  words  according  to 
the  best  effort  of  your  own  God-given  intelligence; 
and  very  often  custom  is  too  strong  and  one  more 


32  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Lady  Macbeth  is  too  monumental,  declamatory,  gory- 
minded  and  domineering. 

Yet  Macbeth  loved  the  fair-faced  hypocrite  and 
petted  her  with  endearing  terms.  She  was  his 
"  chuck,"  his  **  dearest  chuck,"  his  "  dear  love." 
Even  to  his  king,  he  openly  shows  his  love  for  her, 
when  he  asks  the  royal  permission  to  himself  act  as 
harbinger 

"And  make  joyful  the  hearing  of  my  wife 
With  your  approach    .    .    ." 

He  makes  no  pretence  of  hastening  ahead  to  prepare 
for  the  king's  reception  and  bestowal — not  one,  only 
"  to  make  joyful  the  hearing  of  his  wife."  Very 
well  then,  granted  he  loved  and  cossetted  her — he 
was  a  fine  soldier,  big  and  bluff  and  physically  brave, 
and  "  in  joining  contrasts  lieth  love's  delight  " — then 
his  contrast  would  be  the  slender,  slight,  possibly 
small  woman.  Fair,  soft,  tender  in  seeming,  this 
*'  dearest  chuck,"  whose  soft  body  housed  a  soul  of 
fire;  whose  brain  seethed  with  plans  to  gratify  her 
devouring  ambition.  Nor  was  this  pet  and  darling 
of  the  rough  soldier's  love  supported  in  her  dread 
deeds  by  her  own  mere  normal  strength.  Crafty  and 
subtle  as  she  was,  clever  as  her  reading  of  Macbeth' s 
character  proves  her  to  have  been,  she  only  became 
terrible  as  a  fate  through  her  absolute  reliance  upon 
the  supernatural  power  of  the  witches.  There  is 
something  appalling  in  her  ready  faith  and  eager 
summoning  of  the  spirits  of  evil  to  her  aid;  and  right 


I  AM  MARRIED  33 

in  that  invocation  I  find  my  proof  that  Lady  Macbeth 
was  naturally  womanly,  pitiful,  capable  of  repentance 
for  wrong  done,  and  had  sufficient  belief  in  God,  to 
at  least  fear  Him.  For  in  that  moment  of  exaltation, 
when  the  promise  of  the  crown  was  tightening  every 
thrilling  nerve  to  a  mad  determination,  her  first 
demand  of  the  "  murdering  ministers  "  is  that  they 
shall  unsex  her: 

"And  fill  me  from  the  crown  to  the  toe,  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty." 

Further  she  wants 

"...     the  access  and  passage  to  remorse  " 

Stopped  up,  fearing  the  softening  influence  of  her 
little  child.  She  prays  the  evil  spirits: 

"...     come  to  my  woman's  breasts 
And  take  my  milk  for  gall. 

And  apparently  already  convinced  that  she  will  have 
to  do  the  awful  deed  herself,  she  prays: 

"     .     .     .     Come  thick  night. 
And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell! 
That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes ; 
Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark. 
To  cry.  Hold,  hold !  " 

She  is  graceful,  suave  and  gracious  to  the  King,  she 
flatters  and  cajoles  Machetli,  and  when  her  boldness 


34  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

startles  him  and  he  would  gain  time  and  "  speak 
further,"  with  assurance  that  is  almost  patronage, 
she  bids  him : 

"...     Only  look  up  clear; 
Leave  all  the  rest  to  me" 

You  see  already  she  is  relying  utterly  upon  the  super- 
natural powers  of  the  witches,  and  it  is  her  faith  in 
them  that  sustains  her  through  the  awful  ordeals  that 
follow.  And  when  at  last  it  is  borne  in  upon  her  that 
they  have  played  her  husband  false;  that  all  stained 
with  crime  they  two  are  left  to  face  an  outraged  God, 
how  quickly  the  delicate  woman  becomes  a  physical 
wreck. 

Masculine?  Never!  Could  a  masculine  woman 
show  such  tender  pity  and  patience  as  Lady  Macbeth 
shows  for  Macbeth  in  the  banquet  scene?  Oh,  the 
weariness,  yet  the  wifely,  almost  maternal,  gentleness 
of  that  line  to  the  broken  man : 

"  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep." 

So  I  was  very  busy  in  defending  my  idea  of  the 
feminine  Lady  Macbeth;  in  trying  to  arrange  some 
"  business  "  for  my  exit  after  the  banquet  scene,  for 
alas,  I  had  become  a  star,  and  had  no  one  to  "  direct  " 
for  me  now.  Instead,  in  an  agony  of  embarrassment 
and  shyness,  I  had  to  direct  everything  myself.  How 
I  blessed  my  old  days  of  service  in  the  ballet  just 
then,  for  I  was  so  familiar  with  the  time-honoured 


I  AM  MARRIED  35 

music  of  Locke,  with  every  bit  of  business  for  the 
apparitions,  soldiers,  supers,  et  al.,  that  not  even  the 
oldest  witch  chasseing  about  the  cauldron  could  find 
a  chance  to  sneer  at  my  ignorance  of  the  old  tragedy 
— modern  as  I  was.  It  was  only  the  business  for  my 
own  part  that  gave  me  a  pause.  Then,  one  day,  that 
fine  old  actress,  Mrs.  Farren,  who  was  an  honour 
to  her  profession  all  her  long  life,  and  who  had 
been  Lady  Macbeth  before  I  was  I  at  all,  said  to 
me  very  kindly,  as  she  pressed  my  aching  head 
between  her  cool  hands:  "Don't,  my  dear!  Give 
it  up!" 

"Don't  what,  Mrs.  Farren?"  I  asked,  leaning 
my  head  against  her  breast  for  a  few  restful  mo- 
ments.   "  Give  up  what?  " 

"  Your  foolish  idea  of  a  coaxing,  crafty,  womanly 
Lady  Macbeth.  Forgive  my  plain  speaking,  my 
child,  but  you  work  so  hard,  and  I  fear  you  are  pour- 
ing your  strength  upon  the  dry  earth.  I  hate  to  see 
such  waste.  My  dear,  I  starred  for  years  in  "  Mac- 
beth," and  the  louder,  more  violent,  more  declama- 
tory I  was  the  better  the  people  liked  me.  They  ex- 
pect to  see  Macbeth  bullied  into  action,  to  speak 
frankly." 

"  But,"  I  asked,  "  what  makes  her  break  down,  if 
she  is  such  a  white  sergeant  of  a  woman?  The  public 
must  think  that " 

"  That's  where  you  blunder,  my  dear,  the  public 
does  not  think.  That's  one  of  your  new  notions. 
Now,  my  child,  you  are  sensitive,  so  why  not  save 
yourself   unkind   criticism.     Cut   your   cloth   by   the 


36  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

good  old-fashioned  pattern — you  know,  it  well.   Oh, 
that's  your  cue — well  run  along." 

Imagine  my  heaviness  of  heart  after  that,  for  I 
knew  the  dear  woman  spoke  with  the  kindest  in- 
tention, and  I  was  deeply  touched,  for  at  that  time 
she  was  almost  a  stranger  to  me.  And  if  you  can 
believe  it,  that  being  also  a  Friday,  Mr.  Harriott 
concluded  that  that  afternoon  was  a  fit  and  proper 
occasion  for  a  proposal;  and  being  a  man  of  consider- 
able decision  of  character,  he  proposed.  And  lo! 
we  both  made  the  discovery  that  in  the  breast  of  this 
meek  and  humble  Clara  there  dwelt  a  certain  pride, 
stiff-necked  and  exacting.  For  you  see,  I  was  an  ac- 
tress— otherwise  a  nobody,  and  this  gentleman  who 
addressed  me  was  an  outsider  and  a  member  of  an 
old  and  a  well-known  family,  and  I  said:  "When 
your   people    are    acquainted   with   your   Intentions, 

and " 

Of  course  he  interrupted  me  with  the  time-honoured 
remark  about  "  marrying  him,  not,  etc.,"  but  I,  hav- 
ing been  made  quite  savage  by  the  "  Macbeth  "  re- 
hearsal, was  determined  to  marry  the  whole  family 
or  not  at  all.  No — not  even  would  I  try  on  a  ring,  let 
alone  wear  one,  until  the  Harriotts  on  one  side  and  the 
Havemeyers  on  the  other,  knew  and  approved  of  the 
proposed  marriage.  And  he  went  forth  to  seek  his 
family,  while  I  sought  bay  rum,  a  handkerchief  and 
the  playbook  of  "  Macbeth,"  and  the  proposal  of 
marriage  hung  in  the  air,  like  Mahomet's  coffin — but 
what  could  you  expect  of  a  proposal  made  on  a 
Friday? 


Ill 

I  STAND  BETWEEN  LADY  MACBETH 
AND  MATRIMONY 

THAT  night  of  the  suspended  marriage  pro- 
posal was  on  my  part  devoted  to  a  final 
seance  with  Lady  Macbeth.  When  good- 
nights  were  over;  when  little  dog,  Bertie,  that  she 
might  not  tease  me  for  my  attention,  had  received  an 
ancient  pair  of  gloves  to  guard;  when  the  house  was 
quiet;  then  indeed,  with  all  my  soul,  I  strove  to 
make  the  great  woman-criminal  reveal  herself  to  my 
awed  understanding,  if  only  in  some  slight  degree. 
I  decided,  too,  upon  a  definite  plan  of  action,  for 
ready  as  I  ever  was  to  profit  by  the  inspiration  of  the 
moment,  I  should  have  felt  myself  reckless  and  pre- 
suming had  I  not  carefully  prepared  business  for 
each  scene.  If  inspiration  came,  so  much  the  better, 
but  if  it  should  fail  me,  there  would  be  the  carefully 
thought  out  business,  which  meant  security;  and 
security  meant  dignity,  and  where  would  dignity  be 
required  if  not  in  the  delivery  of  Shakespeare's 
stately  measures. 

Because  I  had  represented  fairly  well  the  heroines 
of  modern  drama,  there  were  people  who  believed 
that  I  was  bound  to  measure  Lady  Macbeth  by  a 
strictly  modern  standard;  bound  to  reduce  to  a  col- 
loquial tone  and  manner  the  majestic  formality  of 
her  awe-inspiring  language.   These  unpleasant  antici- 

37 


o 


S  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 


putions  added  to  Mrs.  Farren's  fears,  and  my  own 
sick  terror  of  the  part,  were  in  a  fair  way  to  make 
my  Lady  Macbeth  a  sort  of  human  blanc-mange, 
colourless  and  quaking.  Then,  at  the  most  critical 
moment,  a  ray  of  encouragement  came  to  me  from  an 
unexpected  quarter.  Miss  Charlotte  Cushman  had 
once  done  me  the  great  honour  of  coming  in  when 
her  own  work  was  over  to  see  the  last  act  of  a  play 
I  was  in.  I  had  little  to  do,  but  she  was  generous  in 
applause,  and  turning  to  her  escort,  she  remarked, 
in  her  deep  voice:  "She  is  young  and  of  the  new 
school,  I  know,  but  I  believe  she  is  one  cf  *'  us  "  after 
all — do  you  see  how  she  listens  when  the  others  are 
speaking — how  she  keeps  in  the  character  all  the 
time?  That's  a  woman  who  began  at  the  bottom  of 
the  ladder.  I'm  not  afraid  to  wager  she  has  been  In 
the  very  ballet,  somewhere,  sometime."  And  she 
seemed  much  gratified  when  told  she  had  guessed 
correctly,  and  on  two  or  three  occasions  she  alluded 
to  me  as  "  the  last  of  the  old  school." 

When  the  discussions  anent  the  character  of  Lady 
Macbeth  broke  out,  she  was  in  Philadelphia,  where 
the  matter  was  brought  to  her  attention,  by  a  young 
man,  generally  known  for  his  peculiarly  clumsy  flat- 
teries. It  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  a  nice 
compliment  and  grateful  to  the  feelings  of  the  great 
actress  to  hear  the  ideas  of  a  lesser  one  ridiculed 
and  grossly  caricatured,  and  he  closed  an  exaggerated 
description  of  the  feminine  Lady  Macbeth  I  stood 
for,  with  the  laughter-choked  cry:  "And — and  red 
hair — sandy  red  hair,  may  it  please  you !  She  expects 


LADY   MACBETH  39 

an  audience  to  patiently  submit  to  a  Lady  Macbeth 
with  sandy  hair!  And  where  the  grandeur  and  the 
terrifying  force  you  have  accustomed  us  to,  is  to  come 
from,  upon  my  soul  I  don't  know,  for  the  Morris 
is  no  more  than  five  feet  in  height — ha !  ha !  " 

And  with  a  calm  and  perhaps  unconscious  cruelt}^ 
Miss  Cushman  remarked:  "Ah,  about  your  own 
height,  I  imagine.  But,  young  sir,  you  should  know 
the  power  and  force  of  the  actress  Is  not  to  be  meas- 
ured by  the  weight  avoirdupois  of  the  woman.  The 
few  minutes  I  once  passed  In  the  company  of  a  frail 
little  victim  of  homicidal  mania  Is  the  most  terrifying 
memory  of  my  life." 

"  Ah,  yes — quite  so.  Insanity  is  alarming,"  stam- 
mered the  little  man,  "  but — I — I  was  thinking  of 
this  young  woman's  presumption.  To  my  mind  now 
traditions  should  be  sacred,  and  this  idea  of  a 
mere  little  emotional  actress  attempting  a  great 
classic ^" 

Then  the  stately  head  went  up — a  real  Cushman 
flash  came  into  the  calm  eyes,  as  with  generous 
warmth  she  cried:  "In  God's  name,  what  would 
become  of  the  stage  without  the  presumption  of  the 
young?  We,  who  have  succeeded  cannot  live  for- 
ever! Others  must  make  ready  to  fill  our  places." 
Then  turning  to  the  lady  who  accompanied  her  that 
morning,  she  said  with  a  smile:  "  My  own  luggage 
consisted  in  great  part  of  youth  and  presumption, 
when  I  began  my  career,  and  I  like  this  girl's  pluck, 
in  standing  out  for  her  own  Idea — besides,  she  Is 
right.     I   have    for   years   recognised   the    absolute 


40  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

womanliness  of  Lady  Macbeth — her  reasoning  is 
good.  I  have  friends  who  rely  to-day  upon  spirit- 
ualism for  aid  in  well-doing,  just  as  she  thinks  Lady 
ALicbcth  relied  upon  the  witches  for  aid  in  wrong- 
doing. You  cannot  well  escape  from  the  perfect 
femininity  of  the  character  if  you  study  her  care- 
fully. You  both  look  amazed — but  what  can  I  do  at 
this  time  of  my  life?  I  played  the  part  in  the  tradi- 
tional manner,  the  big,  heavy  style,  and  it  was  lucky 
for  me  that  the  public  liked  it,  or  I  should  have  been 
short  of  a  good  drawing  play — for  though  intellect- 
ually I  am  for  the  feminine  Lady  Macbeth,  physi- 
cally " — she  laughed — "  I  am  not  well  fitted  for  the 
coaxing,  purring,  velvet-footed,  supple  hypocrite." 
Then  turning  back  to  the  unfortunate  youth,  who 
had  tempted  his  fate,  she  finished  him  and  the  subject 
both,  by  saying:  "As  to  the  red  hair,  sir,  I  know 
Scotland  and  its  people  well,  and  I  believe  there  are 
more  flaxen,  red  and  sandy  Scots  than  there  are  black 
ones.  So  she  is  justified  in  wearing  red  hair  if  it  helps 
her  to  indicate  the  character." 

Oh,  the  thrill  of  joy  that  w^ent  through  my  heart 
when  I  heard  that  this  big-brained,  thoughtful,  ex- 
perienced actress — the  greatest  Lady  Macbeth  of 
her  time — declared  for  the  femininity  of  that  char- 
acter. Her  words  of  generous  encouragement  were 
like  a  strong  staff  to  lean  upon,  until  the  public  could 
decide  whether  or  no  it  would  support  my  uncertain 
footsteps. 

Whenever  the  memory  of  that  famous  woman, 
Charlotte   Cushman,   is   summoned  suddenly  to  my 


LADY   MACBETH  41 

mind,  she  appears  not  as  Meg  MerriUes;  not  as  Queen 
Catharine,  but  as  the  stately  gentlewoman,  whose 
crown  of  beauty  came  to  her  with  age  in  the  pure 
white  hair  that  seemed  to  soften  not  only  her  ex- 
pression, but  the  very  outlines  of  her  too  square  jaw 
and  the  majestic  brow.  So,  often  I  used  to  see  her 
driving  in  the  park,  frequently  quite  alone.  Her 
grey  silks,  her  swath  of  black  laces,  her  regal  bearing, 
her  gentle  courtesy,  made  the  heart  leap  up  in  pride 
of  her — for  no  royal  woman  in  Europe  looked  so 
like  the  ideal  queen-dowager  as  did  that  aged  actress. 
And  yet  she  never  failed  at  the  same  time  to  suggest 
to  me  the  idea  of  a  supposedly  extinct  volcano; 
there  was  the  lonely  grandeur,  the  stern  snow-cov- 
ered height,  and  great  calm  surface,  but  now  and 
again  certain  sounds,  certain  tremors  hinted  strongly 
at  the  hidden  fires  still  surging  in  that  volcano  of 
dramatic  power  and  genius. 

When,  heartened  greatly  by  the  reported  words  of 
Miss  Cushman,  I  had  decided  upon  a  general  plan 
of  action,  two  matters  of  mere  detail  came  up  for 
most  anxious  consideration.  Every  actress  is  sensi- 
tively alive  to  the  pleasure  of  a  warm  reception — 
that  being  the  technical  term  for  the  applause  with 
which  the  audience  greets  the  first  appearance  of  an 
artist  before  any  word  has  been  spoken.  Generally 
speaking,  it  signifies  a  courteous  greeting,  correspond- 
ing to  a  lifted  hat  and  a  pleasant  salutation.  But  on 
occasions  when  the  actress  is  a  special  favourite,  the 
reception,  enthusiastic  and  long  continued,  becomes 
a  demonstration,  which  is  inartistic  and  destructive 


42  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

i)f  tlic  illusion  of  the  play,  since  it  drags  the  actress 
out  of  her  part,  and  in  her  bowing  and  curtseying 
and  smiling  she  becomes  Miss  Jones  or  Miss  Morris, 
returning  thanks  to  the  public.  A  woman  would  not 
be  human  who  did  not  enjoy  to  the  last  drop  of  her 
blood,  just  such  a  greeting,  even  though  her  artistic 
sense  condemned  it.  Surely  I  ought  to  know — by 
the  way,  I  hope  at  this  distance  of  passed  years  I  may 
speak  frankly  of  triumphs  won,  of  favours  received, 
with  no  more  charge  of  vanity  than  Is  made  against 
the  silver-haired  mother,  who  recounts  for  her 
daughter's  entertainment  the  conquests  her  beauty 
made  in  the  past  days  of  her  acknowledged  belle- 
hood.  Of  course  her  beauty  Is  gone,  but  legends  of 
Its  past  existence  justify  her  gentle  boasting.  So,  too, 
there  are  still  with  us  those  who  have  not  only  seen 
some  nights  of  wild  enthusiasm  at  the  theatre,  but 
have  done  their  own  extravagant  best  to  add  to  their 
fervour. 

Well,  to  return  to  the  subject.  Those  joyous,  long- 
sustained  receptions  that  had  been  so  sweet  to  me, 
the  artist  in  me  suddenly  realised  would  be  simply 
ruinous  In  the  case  of  Lady  Macbeth.  Just  think  of 
It.  The  play  Is  already  running  at  high  tide,  and  at 
her  very  first  step  she  Is  up  to  her  lips  In  tragedy: 
"  They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success;  and  I  have 
learned  by  the  perfectest  report  they  have  more  in 
them  than  mortal  knowledge,^''  she  reads  with  eager 
Intensity  of  Interest  as  she  enters.  And  there  are  but 
thirty-six  brief  words  between  that  entrance  and  one 
of  the  greatest  moments  In  the  entire  part:    "  They 


LADY   MACBETH  43 

made  themselves  air  into  'which  they  vanished! " 
How  impossible,  then,  would  be  the  recognition  of  a 
reception.  B-r-r-r!  one's  teeth  were  on  edge  at  the 
thought!  And  yet  the  public,  It  is  sensitive — it  Is 
quick  to  take  offence  at  times,  and  the  actress  who 
does  not  quail  at  the  thought  of  vexing  her  public 
may  exist,  but  certainly  I. have  not  met  her  yet. 

So  on  that  night  I  was  bracing  my  courage  up  to 
the  point  of  calmly  ignoring  the  reception,  that  I 
knew  would  be  not  only  a  greeting  but  an  assurance 
of  a  fair  field  and  no  favour,  and  their  hearty  good 
wishes  for  my  success,  and  what  would  they  think 
If  their  courtesy  were  not  acknowledged  even  by  a 
glance — I  asked  myself  one  moment,  while  in  the 
next  I  was  recalling  a  dozen  proofs  of  the  extraor- 
dinary quickness  of  perception  shown  by  the  Ameri- 
can public,  and — and,  well  I  resolved  I  must  take 
the  risk — anything  rather  than  see  Lady  Macbeth 
smiling  and  bowing  and  perhaps  kissing  hands,  and 
then  trying  to  get  back  Into  the  wrapt  eagerness  of 
the  letter-reader.  One  other  thing,  a  trifle,  yet  part 
of  the  whole,  I  decided  to  keep  by  me  a  great  cir- 
cular cloak  of  grey  material,  to  wrap  about  me  In 
going  before  the  curtain — for  no  actor  or  actress  can 
be  denied  the  honour  of  curtain  calls,  yet  they  do 
break  the  illusion  of  the  play;  and  I  meant  to  hide 
Lady  Macbeth  by  at  least  the  size  and  thickness  of 
a  cloak,  and  let  Miss  Morris  go  before  the  curtain, 
leaving  the  great  Thane's  wife  In  the  play,  If  possible. 
I  had  done  all  I  could  then,  so  I  took  the  gloves  from 
under  Bertie's  chin,  and  as  she  sprang  to  the  foot  of 


44  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  bed,  looking  over  for  that  never  forgotten  bear, 
I  raised  my  hand  to  lower  the  gas  and  heard  the 
clock  strike  three,  and  suddenly  I  wondered  whether 
Mr.  Harriott  had  rounded  up  his  family  yet? 
"Bertie,"  I  said,  "suppose  we  were  asked  what 
family  of  Morris  we  belong  to,  do  you  know  we 
would  have  to  say,  *  if  you  please,  we  are  not  Morris 
at  all — our  characters  are  good,  but  we  have  no  fam- 
ily, no  family  at  all!  '  " 

Bertie  looked  as  if  she  thought  I  had  said  "  Rats !  " 
and  I  laughed.  I  could  afford  to  because  I  had  related 
to  my  suitor,  with  both  emphasis  and  detail  every 
disagreeable  fact  connected  with  my  birth  and  early 
life.  I  had  also  warned  him  of  certain  unpleasant 
penalties  a  man  might  have  to  pay  for  marrying  an 
actress.  For  myself,  I  was  sure  that  If  a  man,  I  could 
never  endure  the  impertinence  of  being  referred  to 
as  Miss  So-and-So's  husband,  and  I  inquired,  too, 
as  to  the  degree  of  violence  he  might  be  expected  to 
show,  if  brutally  addressed  as  Mr.  Morris,  by  some 
hurried  doctor,  reporter  or  conductor?  I  think  that 
suggestion  gave  him  pause,  for  his  smile  had  cer- 
tainly been  a  trifle  forced,  but  I  had  done  my  duty; 
I  had  concealed  nothing  of  the  French-Canadian 
father's  perfidy;  my  legal,  social  and  dramatic  status 
had  been  made  quite  plain — and,  well,  I  laughed. 

Next  morning,  at  ten-thirty,  Mr.  Harriott  ap- 
peared, bearing  messages,  invitations  and  photo- 
graphs of  a  family  whose  dimensions  made  me  gasp; 
and  whose  generous  willingness  to  accept  me  on  trust, 
as  little  boys  say  "  sight  unseen,"  brought  a  lump 


LADY   MACBETH  45 

into  my  -throat.  And  at  eleven  o'clock  all  ringed  and 
engaged,  I  was  rehearsing  with  consciously  aug- 
mented dignity,  the  brave  old  tragedy.  While  on 
Monday  evening,  yet  another  incident  occurred  that 
helped  so  to  interline  the  speeches  of  the  play  with 
courtship,  proposal,  acceptance  and  family  recog- 
nition of  the  player,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
unbraid  the  memories. 

There  are  few  plays  that  can  more  quickly  turn  a 
medium-sized  theatre  into  a  veritable  pandemonium 
than  can"  Macbeth."  The  noise  and  confusion  caused 
by  extra  people ;  the  darkness,  the  extended  brace  for 
the  tripping  up  of  the  unwary,  the  open  traps  for  the 
swallowing  up  of  the  careless  or  the  ignorant.  The 
startling  and  disturbing  appearance  of  the  witches, 
the  seeming  frenzy  of  the  stage  manager,  the  helter- 
ing-skeltering  of  gasmen,  carpenters  and  scene- 
shifters,  the  testing  of  the  thunder  and  the  lightning, 
the  hasty  and  stumbling  arrival  of  the  musicians,  who 
are  to  give  the  "  flourishes  "  behind  the  scenes,  and 
who  swear  volubly  in  foreign  languages,  thus  escap- 
ing the  forfeiture  for  all  English  swearing;  the  blue- 
burning  cauldron;  the  snake  entwined  Hecate;  the 
fiercely  barbaric  looking  Thanes  or  warriors.  If  all 
this  is  confusing  to  an  actor,  what  must  it  seem  to  an 
outsider,  who  sees  behind  the  curtain  for  the  first 
time  ? 

On  that  Monday  night  I  had  gone  very  early  to 
my  dressing-room,  that  1  might  not  get  flurried  over 
some  trivial  thing  and  lose  my  hold  upon  my  part; 
and  with  head  like  fire  and  hands  like  ice,   I  was 


46  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

looking  In  the  glass  and  wondering  miserably  if  any 
other  Lady  Macbeth  ever  had  such  modern-looking 
features — features  that  to  my  excited  imagination 
flatly  contradicted  my  perfectly  correct  woollen  gown, 
my  head  drapery,  my  rolled  scroll  letter?  "  Oh, 
dear!  "  I  moaned,  contemplating  my  full  length  re- 
flection, "  everything  looks  nice  and  Macbethy,  except 
my  face  I  Oh,  for  a  Greek,  coin-like  profile !  "  and  a 
knock  came  upon  the  door. 

"  Is  that  for  the  overture?  "  I  called.  "  All  right, 
my  lad,  go  ahead!  " 

But  another  knock  sounded  and  the  call-boy's 
voice  replied:  "  It  ain't  me,  mum,  It's  some  gentle- 
men that  wants  you." 

And  just  as  the  property  man  tested  his  lightning 
flash,  I  flung  open  the  door,  to  find  standing  there, 
very  close  together,  two  old  gentlemen,  whose 
bewildered,  discomfited  faces  suggested  at  once  a 
pair  of  ancient  babes  in  the  wood.  For  a  moment 
we  stood  helplessly  staring,  then  a  powerful  resem- 
blance told  me  who  the  sturdier,  white-haired  man 
must  be,  and  I  put  forth  my  hands  and  drew  the  babes 
out  of  the  hurly-burly  Into  my  room,  that  was  by 
comparison  an  oasis  of  peace  and  sanity.  And  lo, 
with  the  closing  of  the  door,  the  bewildered  ones 
became  Instantly  a  pair  of  shrewd,  clear-sighted  old 
business  men,  who  were  forming  swift  conclusions 
as  to  the  manner  of  woman,  son  and  nephew  Fred 
was  rushing  so  suddenly  into  the  family.  Mr.  War- 
ren Harriott  (father)  having  been  introduced,  he 
in    turn    presented    Mr.    Frederick    C.    Havemeyer 


LADY   MACBETH  47 

(uncle).  They  were  beautiful  old  men.  One  sturdy, 
ruddy,  white-haired  and  always  in  white  neckwear. 
The  other,  lean,  silver-haired,  high  featured,  slightly 
formal,  gentle-voiced — the  sort  of  man  whom  you 
expect  to  wear  the  winged  Gladstone  collar  and  black 
satin  stock. 

They  informed  me  that  they  had  made  some  mis- 
take for  Fred  was  to  have  met  them  at  the  door  to 
bring  them  in,  but  since  they  had  found  me,  it  was  all 
right,  and  they  would  not  detain  me  only  long  enough 
to  make  an  explanation  and  ask  a  question.  The 
family  were  out  of  town,  and  among  the  most 
anxious  to  greet  me  was  Grandmother  Havemeyer, 
but  she  was  ninety-two  years  old  and  not  quite  strong 
enough  to  come  to  the  city  just  now.  Fred's  mother 
and  sisters  did  not  wish  to  delay  their  visit,  neither 
did  they  wish  to  disappoint  the  beloved  grandmother. 
So  could  I — would  I,  in  consideration  of  such  great 
age — but  I  interrupted  him  to  say,  swiftly  "  Yes  I 
could — and  I  would — on  any  day  save  Saturday,  that 
might  be  agreeable  to  them." 

Then  one  pressed  my  hand  and  the  other  patted 
my  shoulder,  and  both  said:  "You  have  a  kind 
heart,  my  dear."  And  Mr.  Havemeyer  added: 
"  When  you  have  seen  my  mother  you  will  not  regret 
this  waiving  of  ceremony,  and  your  right  to  a  first 
visit  from  our  people,  for  her  sake." 

And  I  being  a  passed  master  in  the  gentle  art  of 
mother  worship,  felt  a  strong  desire  to  embrace  then 
and  there  this  newly  met  brother  worshipper.  I  could 
not  help  noticing  how  Mr.  Harriott's  eyes  kept  turn- 


48  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Inp:  to  my  hair,  as  I  thought  with  a  slight  frown,  and 
suddenly  T  remarked:  "  This  is  not  my  hair,  sir,  it  is 
a  wig.  I'm  just  a  common,  every  day,  brown  in 
reality." 

And  his  hearty  and  relieved :  "  Well,  I'm  thankful 
to  hear  that,  my  child,"  set  us  off  laughing,  and 
laughter  being  the  key  that  unlocks  the  shackles  of 
formality  and  restraint,  we  were  chatting  away  quite 
happily,  when  with  a  crash  the  overture  burst  forth. 
Instantly  the  bewildered  anxious  look  came  back  to 
their  faces  and  they  drew  close  together  again. 

'*  We  ought  to  go,"  remarked  Mr.  Harriott,  nerv- 
ously. 

"  Yes,"  I  frankly  acquiesced,  "  but  before  we  say 
good-bye,  I  will  see  you  safely  past  these  treacherous 
open  traps.  The  stage  is  so  dark  for  this  act,  you 
might  meet  with  an  accident." 

I  opened  the  door  to  find  Mr.  Fred  Harriott  there, 
just  raising  his  hand  to  knock.  The  joyful  recogni- 
tion that  flashed  into  those  two  old  faces,  the  certainty 
that  now  they  would  be  safely  piloted  out  of  that 
pandemonium,  was  both  amusing  and  touching.  They 
turned  back  to  me  a  moment.  Mr.  Havemeyer  with 
gentle-voiced  formality  offered  his  congratulations 
and  good  wishes,  and  Mr.  Harriott  bluntly  remarked : 
"  You're  a  good  girl,  and  I'm  glad  to  have  you  for  a 
daughter,"  and  bent  his  white  head  and  kissed  me 
right  heartily.  And  that  was  how  I  came  into  pos- 
session of  one  of  the  dearest  fathers  In  the  world! 
And  while  I  was  biting  my  lips  hard  and  batting  my 
eyelids  rapidly  to  keep  back  tears,  that  might  spoil 


I 


LADY   MACBETH  49 

my  careful  make-up,  someone  standing  by  the  stage 
door,  said  excitedly  as  the  three  gentlemen  passed  out: 
"  Why — why  that  was  F.  C.  Havemeyer — w-what 
is  he  doing  behind  the  scenes  of  a  theatre?"  The 
door  man  replied:  "  He  came  to  see  Miss  Morris." 

"  Oh,  indeed — and  F.  C.  Harriott  Is  Havemeyer's 
nephew,  Isn't  he — huh-uh!  everything  fair  and 
friendly  too,  eh?"  And  next  day  approaching  mar- 
riage notices  broke  out  In  various  papers,  and  after 
that  Mr.  Flarrlott's  family  grew  in  importance  and 
their  genealogical  tree  reached  upward  higher  and 
ever  higher,  until  kings  and  emperors  might  have 
humbly  sat  beneath  its  towering  boughs.  And  but  for 
the  nightly  plaudits  of  the  public,  I  might  by  com- 
parison have  felt  myself  a  very  worm.  For  oh,  joy! 
joy !  Lady  Macbeth  had  been  accepted.  Even  the  re- 
ception stumbling-block  some  stranger's  hand  had  re- 
moved from  my  path. 

I  had  come  upon  the  stage  swiftly,  scroll  open,  lips 
moving,  eyes  racing  eagerly  from  line  to  line.  The 
applause  broke  out.  I  stood  and  read.  It  increased  in 
volume — my  heart-beats  choked  me,  but  I  read  on. 
Would  It  go  on  forever?  My  knees  trembled — my 
courage  was  failing  me — the  applause  began  to  thin 
— the  heart  went  out  of  It.  I  felt  disapproval  dis- 
tinctly— obstinacy  only  was  keeping  the  reception  up. 
I  was  just  going  to  raise  my  eyes,  when  someone 
understood,  and  said  clearly,  loudly :  "  S-s-h — 
S-s-sh!"  then  swiftly  added,  "  brava"  and  again 
"sh-sh !  "  and  like  lightning  the  house  caught  the  idea. 
There  was  a  quick,  sharp  round  of  applause,  approv- 


so  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

ing,  comprehending,  then  perfect  silence  fell,  and  in 
a  voice  choked  by  rapid  breathing,  I  read:  "  They 
met  me  in  the  day  of  success'' 

Another  happy  accident  came  to  me  later  on.  I 
could  ill  support  the  dragging  weight  of  the  royal 
robes,  while  the  crown  was  so  cruelly  heavy  that  the 
pain  from  it  became  at  last  almost  unbearable,  while 
in  the  banquet  scene  the  tense  watchfulness,  the  swift 
changes  rung  upon  the  emotions,  the  royal  dignity, 
queenly  hospitality,  the  fine  self-restraint  and  calm  as- 
surance had  all  been  in  vain,  when  the  woman's  whole 
splendid  line  of  defence  had  broken  down  under 
Macbeth's  second  outburst  of  mad,  all-revealing  ter- 
ror, the  player  was  physically  as  shattered,  shaken, 
spent  as  was  ever  Lady  Macbeth  spiritually.  It  was 
in  the  momentary  pause  that  followed  the  exit  of  all 
the  guests  that  I  realised  in  addition  to  the  weight, 
the  unpadded  edge  of  the  metal  crown  was  actually 
cutting  my  brow.  Lady  Macbeth's  last  line  had  been 
spoken,  Macbeth  had  turned  and  walked  with  som- 
bre mien  to  the  R.  I.  entrance,  repeating  his  exit 
speech.  As  he  reached  the  line : 

**     .     .     .     My  strange  and  self  abuse 
Is  the  initiate  fear,  that  wants  hard  use: " 

the  Queen  unable  to  longer  endure  her  suffering, 
raised  both  hands  and  lifted  the  crown  up  from  her 
head  and  in  the  same  Instant,  the  King  turning,  noted 
the  action  with  such  a  surprised  frown,  that  quick  as 
a  flash  the  Queen  dropped  it  to  its  place  again  and 


LADY  MACBETH  51 

bravely  smiled  Into  his  face;  while  both  were  startled 
by  the  swift-following  applause  of  sympathetic  com- 
prehension. He  added  his  suggestive: 

"  We  are  yet  both  young  in  deed." 

and  so  made  exit,  and  Lady  Macbeth  kept  her  forced 
smile  till  he  was  quite  gone.  Then  it  faded.  Slowly 
she  removed  the  crown  and  stood  looking  at  it,  cal- 
culating all  Its  cost,  until  tears  trickled  down  her  wan 
cheeks,  when  hearing  a  sound  outside  she  hastily  re- 
sumed it,  and  with  listless,  hanging  arms  and  droop- 
ing shoulders,  feebly  dragged  her  royal  trappings,  her 
misery  and  herself  out  of  sight  as  the  curtain  fell. 
That  had  not  been  the  "  business  "  I  had  prepared, 
but  It  was  better,  as  warm  Impromptu  action  is  apt  to 
be  superior  to  coldly  thought  out  effects;  and  I  find 
that  I,  who  almost  never  keep  a  clipping,  have  kept 
one  criticism  of  that  night's  work,  because  of  the  ap- 
pearance In  it  of  the  quite  unusual  word  "  apoc- 
alypse." "  At  the  fading  of  that  bravely  forced 
smile,  the  woman's  face  became  a  very  apocalypse  of 
woe,"  it  reads — where  is  Polonlus,  with  his  *'  mobled 
queen,"  would  he  say  "  apocalypse  Is  good,"  or  would 
he  not? 

But  while  I  agonised  in  silent  dread  of  the  great 
test — the  sleep  walking  scene,  Mrs.  Farren  came  to 
me  in  hideous  witch's  garb,  and  put  kind  arms  about 
me,  and  said:  "  My  dear,  God  has  blessed  you  with 
great  originality.  Stop  torturing  yourself  like  this. 
Trust  to  yourself,  as  the  people  out  there  trust  to  you 


52  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

^have  confidence.  For  forty  years  I  have  believed 
utterly  in  the  masculinity  of  Lady  Macbeth,  yet  in 
three  hours  you  have  converted  me  to  a  belief  in  her 
femininity.  Is  that  nothing  then? — for  my  dear, 
Mary  Ann  Farren  has  been  a  power  in  her  day !  " 

"And  is  still,"  I  answered,  honestly;  and  was 
grateful  for  her  thought  of  me,  and  truly  tried  to 
follow  her  advice,  and  could  not  foresee  the  time 
when  she  would  laughingly  count  my  seventh  call  be- 
fore the  curtain,  for  the  same  dreaded  scene;  and  dry 
the  angry  tears  shed,  because  in  the  excitement  a  man, 
had  clambered  up  on  to  the  stage  and  triumphantly 
cut  a  piece  from  my  beautiful  white  crepe  draperies, 
to  keep  as  a  souvenir,  a  style  of  compliment  that  never 
recommended  itself  to  my  favour. 

About  three  weeks  later  and  quite  after  the  man- 
ner of  actresses  generally  my  marriage  was  hastily 
sandwiched  in  between  two  professional  engagements. 
To  avoid  the  annoyance  of  facing  the  crowd  of  curi- 
ous idlers  who  haunt  church  doors  when  a  wedding 
threatens,  I  deceived  even  my  maid  and  my  landlady 
as  to  the  hour  appointed  for  the  ceremony — for  it 
had  become  evident  that  someone  near  me  was  giving 
out  information  with  lavish  generosity.  So  when  the 
day  came  around,  all  brave  in  matlasee  and  silver-fox, 
vvith  orange  flower  bouquet  the  groom's  gift,  accom- 
panied and  supported  by  my  whole  family  in  the  per- 
son of  my  mother,  I  arrived  at  noon  before  that  Pres- 
byterian church  (Fourth  avenue  and  Tw^enty-third 
street),  whose  tenets  I  rejected,  but  whose  eloquent 
pastor  I  greatly  honoured,  and  entering  its  parlour 


LADY  MACBETH  53 

received  a  joyous  surprise.  For  enthroned  in  an  arm- 
chair, the  centre  of  an  adoring  group,  grandmother 
Havemeyer  with  smiling  lips  and  eager  eyes  sat  wait- 
ing, and  in  a  moment  I  was  worshipping  with  the  rest, 
while  receiving  her  soft  kisses  and  gentle  blessing. 
And  indeed  she  was  the  sweetest  of  ancient  ladies. 
Her  pretty  white  hair,  her  merry  eye,  the  faint  colour 
on  cheek  and  lip,  all  made  her  look  like  a  belated  rose, 
and  every  one  of  her  ninety-two  years  seemed  to  be 
represented  by  some  separate  grace  or  charm,  or  vir- 
tue, some  fair  thought  or  fairer  deed.  Her  grandson 
Fred  was  her  special  and  particular  chum,  and  she 
had  stoutly  maintained  he  should  not  marry  without 
her  presence;  and  there  she  was. 

So  a  bit  later  the  Reverend  Howard  Crosby,  book 
in  hand,  began  the  marriage  service,  and  I  started 
out  to  attend  devoutly  to  every  tremendously  import- 
ant word  of  it;  when  the  strangely  wrinkled  condition 
of  one  side  of  Dr.  Crosby's  robe  aroused  an  intense 
curiosity  as  to  why  one  side  and  not  the  other  should 
be  so  deeply  creased;  while  faintly  through  all  that 
worked  the  hope  that  the  ring  might  not  fall  and 
roll  under  the  seats.  It  would  be  so  embarrassing 
for  whoever  had  to  seek  for  it.  "Eh?  *  yesi  and 
again,  ^  yes^ — and  lo,  I  was  Mrs.  Harriott.  And  I 
had  married  not  only  my  husband  but  his  whole  fam- 
ily. I — who  had  never  had  sisters,  or  brothers,  had 
them  now  galore!  the  dearest,  the  best,  with  father 
and  adorable  second  mother  for  good  measure. 

But  now  that  the  superstitious  may  not  be  deprived 
of  their  dues,  let  me  say  that  Mr.  Harriott  having 


54  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

begun  his  wrong-doing  in  luck,  by  proposing  on  Fri- 
day, continued  in  his  evil  course  by  adding  to  his 
wedding  gift  of  diamonds  a  fine  opal,  and  finally 
reached  his  apogee  of  bad  luck  by  clasping  said  opal 
about  my  throat  for  the  actual  service.  I  may  add  we 
were  married  on  a  Monday — second  worst  day  of 
the  week;  on  the  last  of  November — worst  month  of 
the  year.  As  we  left  the  church  the  crowd  was  al- 
ready beginning  to  gather,  for  the  wedding  that  had 
been  announced  for  3  P.  M.  I  was  laughing  hap- 
pily over  our  escape,  when  I  saw  a  look  of  annoyance 
coming  into  my  lord's  face  and  our  speed  slackened 
strangely,  and  oh,  well,  the  driver  had  got  himself  all 
tangled  up  in  a  great  funeral!  Oh,  no,  I'm  not 
through  yet — for  at  the  very  moment  we  had  stood 
before  the  minister,  another  uncle,  Mr.  Havemeyer, 
then  Mayor  of  New  York,  whose  note  of  excuse  and 
explanation  grandmother  was  holding  in  her  hand, 
had  fallen  dead  from  his  chair,  and  by  some  odd  coin- 
cidence had  been  caught  In  the  arms  of  a  man  bearing 
the  name  of  Morris. 

There!  there  are  omens  enough  to  swamp  half  a 
dozen  marriages!  Yet,  dear  me,  that  was  in  1874, 
and  this  is — good  gracious  1906!  And  though  the 
dear  family  I  married  is  pitifully  shrunken  and  small 
now,  the  husband,  superstition  to  the  contrary  not- 
withstanding, big  and  ruddy  and  as  English  looking 
as  If  he  had  just  left  the  Shires,  Is  sitting  not  far  off, 
and  not  the  sign  of  a  divorce  decree  to  be  found  in 
this  house.  What's  the  use  of  respecting  omens  after 
that! 


IV 
THE   MOXA 

iCMONG  my  friends  there  was  one  who  was 
L\  particularly  bitter  against  the  press,  because 
JL  JLlt  had  so  little  consideration  for  the  privacy 
of  the  individual.  She  denounced  the  tittle-tattle,  the 
continued  gossiping  about  the  doings  of  those  men 
and  women  who  in  one  way  or  another  had  come 
into  the  eye  of  the  public,  and  was  quite  specially 
severe  upon  those  persons  who  heedlessly  gave  in- 
formation to  the  "  meddlesome  Matties,"  that  being 
her  picturesque  tribal  name  for  all  newspaper  re- 
porters, interviewers,  etc.  Yet  it  was  owing  solely  to 
her  own  personal  indiscretion  that  the  following  let- 
ter reached  the  newspapers,  and  through  them  my 
private  affliction  became  public  property.  A  letter  so 
swiftly,  so  widely  copied,  that  I  actually  met  it  face 
to  face  in  a  French  paper  before  I  had  started  for 
home. 

Wounded,  mortified,  and  hotly  angry  was  T,  over 
the  breach  of  confidence,  until  upon  my  arrival  here 
I  met  that  wondrous  wave  of  sympathy  that,  starting 
afar  off  from  the  great  cities,  tangled  in  the  white 
fringe  of  the  Pacific,  had  in  its  onward  sweep  reached 
out  both  North  and  South,  ever  gathering  pity  and 
sorrow,  kindly  thoughts  and  many  prayers  in  its 
swell;  a  wave  that  broke  about  me  heart  high,  wash- 
ing away  all  anger  and  humiliation  and  leaving  only 
profound  gratitude   and  a   great  wonder  that  the 

55 


56  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

public  should  not  only  heed  but  sympathise  with  the 
pain  of  one  of  the  least  of  its  servants. 

But  oh,  what  a  crop  of  piteous  letters  was  gathered 
into  my  letter-box  directly  after  my  return  from 
Paris ! — so  many,  many  poor  sufferers  in  varying  de- 
grees from  spinal  trouble  wrote  to  me  eagerly  asking 
if  the  moxa  cured?  If  it  had  cured  me?  And  would 
I  advise  others  to  submit  to  the  treatment?  And  oh! 
poor  souls!  I  had  to  confess  I  had  apparently  suf- 
fered in  vain. 

Physicians  here  at  home  declared  the  details  of  the 
operation  were  barbaric  and  outrageous;  that  the 
needless  strain  of  waiting,  the  sound  of  the  furnace, 
the  preparatory  marking  of  the  spine  with  a  pencil, 
were  cruel,  unnecessary,  and  I  almost  believe,  but  for 
three  disinterested  witnesses,  they  would  have  added 
incredible. 

Even  the  preliminary  examinations  seemed  to  me 
to  be  theatrical  and  designed  to  impress  and  awe  me 
— each  of  the  doctors  with  his  paper  and  his  pencil 
solemnly  making  his  little  notes.  Could  I  stand  this 
way?  Could  I  bend  that  way?  Could  I  walk  a 
straight  line  with  my  eyes  open? 

"  But,  good  sir,"  I  remonstrated,  "  I  am  a  tee- 
totaller! " 

They  went  on,  they  measured  off  so  many  feet  on 
the  floor,  and  marked  each  end  of  the  distance  with  a 
chair.  They  bandaged  my  eyes  tight  and,  quite  un- 
necessarily, drew  down  the  shades  also  before  placing 
me  at  one  chair  and  bidding  me  try  to  walk  blind- 
folded to  the  other. 


THE  MOXA  57 

"Ah!"  I  remarked,  "your  blindman's-buff  Is  a 
rather  staid  and  melancholy  game.  I  prefer  the  Eng- 
lish version."  As  they  gravely  measured  how  far  I 
was  away  from  the  chair  I  had  aimed  at,  I  hopefully 
suggested  a  change  to  "  puss  in  the  corner." 

Dr.  Belvin,  an  American  by  birth,  strove  desper- 
ately not  to  laugh,  for  Professor  Ball,  who  was  his 
superior,  looked  upon  mirth  as  the  sure  sign  of  an 
empty  mind.  Then,  with  a  weighty  and  momentous 
manner,  the  hawk-faced  professor  began  sticking 
needles  into  the  calves  of  my  unfortunate  legs,  while, 
quite  in  the  style  of  the  Inquisition,  Dr.  Belvin  behind 
me  took  down  this  conversation: 

"Do   you   feel   these   punctures?"     (Being   alive,   yes.) 

"Are  they  painful?"     (Naturally.)     "How  many  needles 

am    I    using?"     My    eyes    were    bandaged    still.      (One.) 

"  Now,  how  many?  "    (Two.)    "  Now,  how  many?  "    (I — 

I  can't  tell.)    "Now,  how  many?"    (The  whole  paper,  I 

I      think!     Sharp's    make;    mixed    sizes!)     "Madame   jests — 

'       make  a  note,  monsieur.    That  is  certainly  of  the  unusual — 

since   madame   undoubtedly   suffers.     The   other   leg,   now. 

Ah!  that  is,  eh?"    (Yes,  professor,  "that  is,"  as  you  say. 

Most  decidedly  these  prickings  are  harder  to  bear.    Two — 

!      three — I  think  five — gracious!    I  wish  you'd  permit  me  to 

offer  you  a  cushion  for  your  needles.) 

The  bandage  being  removed — to  my  great  relief 
— I  was  about  to  retire  my  indignant  and  smarting 
calves  to  the  protecting  shelter  of  the  lacy  white  pet- 
ticoat of  the  period,  when  the  scientific  hawk  swooped 
down  upon  my  foot — nay,  my  feet;  and  his  plucking 


5S  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

off  of  my  shoes  made  me  think  of  the  hungry  dis- 
membering of  prey.  Exaggerated?  Very  likely,  but 
that  was  the  fancy  of  the  sorely  tried  and  secretly 
frightened  woman,  whose  black  silk  heels  were 
planted  upon  his  knees,  with  soles  facing  him  like  a 
pair  of  medium  sized  flat-irons;  and  I  watched  with 
grave  curiosity  while  the  professor,  with  long,  bony 
fingers,  strove  to  tickle — yes,  tickle — those  immov- 
able, irresponsive  black  soles  of  mine.  He  gazed  at 
me  menacingly,  with  ever  growing  excitement,  as  his 
nails  vainly  scratched  up  and  down,  criss-cross,  while 
I  regarded  his  efforts  with  the  half-amused,  large 
patience  of  a  mother  who  sees  her  child  planting  pen- 
nies in  the  flower-pot  in  the  hope  of  raising  little 
pocket-book  plants  from  them.  Suddenly  he  sprang 
up.  "You — you  laugh  not?  You  have  not  even  to 
squirm  ?  You,  who  are  one  bundle  of  nerves — broken, 
sick  nerves  at  that — yet  you  have  the  feet  nerveless  1 
of  the  marble!  You  are  extraordinaire,  madame! 
You  have  made  the  note,  mon  confrere?  the  feet  not 
to  be  tickle — eh?  you  have  him?  Bien!  A-a-ah!  "  he 
shook  his  ten  fingers  furiously  at  me.  "  A-a-ah  I  you 
are  an  extraordinary  woman — bien,  oui !  " 

"  Mais,  non !  "  I  objected  "  It  is  you,  monsieur, 
who  are  extraordinary.  You  do  not  consider  that  I 
am  a  stranger  to  your  ways.  You  should  give  me 
time.  In  America,  now,  a  gentleman  never  thinks  of 
tickling  the  feet  of  a  lady  who  calls  upon  him  for 
advice.  Would  not  even  if  the  call  were  purely  so- 
cial. He  entertains  her  with  conversation,  pays  her 
compliments  that  tickle  her  fancy  or  her  pride,  pos- 


THE  MOXA  59 

slbly — but  he  respects  her  soles.  Dr.  Belvin,  you  don't 
seem  well?  But  you  can,  I  think,  as  an  American, 
bear  me  out  in  my  assertion,  and  perhaps  you  will 
also  return  my  shoes;  I  should  greatly  dislike  going 
down  to  the  carriage  in  my  stocking  feet." 

And  while  the  big  Kentuckian,  shaking  with 
laughter,  replaced  my  shoes,  I  shook  with  sick  terror 
of  the  decision  I  was  presently  to  listen  to.  My  non- 
sense was  not  meant  for  flippancy — but  laughter  was 
my  only  shield,  a  jest  my  only  weapon  of  defence,  and 
the  greater  my  pain  and  fright  and  need,  the  more 
recklessly  I  used  them.  Then  I  heard  my  fate :  "  The 
iron — or " 

"  Well,"  I  asked,  "  or  what?  "  and  they  added: 

"  A  year — perhaps  a  year  and  a  half  of  time, 
and " 

So  that  night  was  a  night  of  terror — ^because  of  an 
active  and  excited  imagination.  My  husband  and  my 
mother  were  on  the  other  side  of  that  great  ocean 
that  widens  so  terribly  between  hearts  at  need,  and 
troubles  always  loom  gigantic  at  night,  and  the  deci- 
sion rested  wholly  with  me.  "  Oh,"  I  whispered  over 
and  over,  "  if  it  were  not  my  back!  If  only  I  could 
see  for  myself  what  was  to  be  done  !  But  how  helpless 
I  shall  feel,  knowing  they  are  exchanging  nods  and 
signs  behind  me,  and — No,  I  will  not  take  ether  or 
chloroform  I  "  I  cried  aloud.  "  If  I  die,  I  will  at  least 
die  consciously !  "  And  with  a  start  I  found  that  I 
had  then  resolved  to  endure  the  new  and,  to  me,  re- 
volting treatment  by  burning — called  the  moxa.  And 
being  decided,  I  had  but  one  conscious  thought — to 


6o  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

hurry,  to  get  the  thing  done,  lest  my  courage  fail! 
To  get  it  done,  that  the  strained  anxiety  In  the  eyes 
of  my  friends  might  give  place  to  relief,  perhaps  to 
satisfaction.  This  letter,  to  the  indiscreet  one,  will 
speak  for  their  sympathy  and  distress : 

1 1  rue  de  la  Bienfaisance, 
Paris,  August  1 2th,  1875. 

My  dear :    I  hasten  to  write  you,  as  I  am  well  able 

under  the  circumstances,  of  the  terrible  trial  to  which  our 
dear  little  friend  has  been  subjected.  As  Prof.  Ball  con- 
curred in  the  opinion  given  by  Dr.  Belvin  that  the  disease 
of  the  spine  would,  if  not  arrested,  terminate  fatally  within 
two  years,  she  determined  to  submit  to  the  treatment  that 
it  makes  me  shudder  to  think  of.  She  said :  "  Only  let  me 
have  it  over — don't  let  me  think  of  it!  "  And  last  Tuesday 
we  drove  to  the  doctor's  rooms,  No.  51  rue  de  la  Luxem- 
bourg. She  was  very  pale,  probably  though  not  more  so  than 
usual,  but  I  could  not  but  notice  that  the  nostrils  were 
dilated  and  the  mouth  more  firmly  set  than  usual.  She  con- 
versed less  than  common  and  in  fits  and  starts,  and,  strange 
to  say,  of  the  most  trivial  things  we  saw  upon  our  way. 
Arriving  at  Dr.  Belvin's  we  were  annoyed  at  not  finding 
Prof.  Ball  there,  and  had  to  wait  for  him  nearly  an  hour; 
all  the  while  our  poor  friend  sat,  with  her  hands  clasped 
between  her  knees,  saying  at  intervals:  "If  they  keep  me 
waiting,  I  shall  fail — I  know  I  shall  fail !  " 

At  last  the  professor  w^as  announced,  and  then  fifteen 
more  minutes  were  given  to  preparations  in  an  adjoining 
room.  Clara  had  stipulated  that  she  should  not  see  the  fur- 
nace nor  the  irons,  and  it  cost  the  two  physicians  some 
trouble  and  labour  to  comply  with  her  wishes.  We  were  at 
last  summoned  to  enter,  and  nothing  was  visible  but  the 
low  chair  in  which  the  victim  was  to  sit,  and  the  two 
operators.    Dr.  Belvin  is  a  man  over  thirty-five,  with  a  clear 


THE  MOXA  6i 

blue  eye,  blond  head,  and  a  rather  kind  expression  of  face. 
Prof.  Ball  is  about  sixty,  with  a  prominent  hooked  nose, 
small  grey  eyes,  and  of  less  than  medium  height.  It  may 
have  been  the  circumstances,  but  he  looked  to  me  the  beau 
ideal  of  an  Inquisitor  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition — well  de- 
serving the  title  given  him  in  Paris  among  medical  men  of 
"  The  Butcher,"  on  account  of  his  terrible  and  frequent 
operations. 

Poor  Clara  was  required  to  sit  In  a  low  chair,  with  her 
back  bared,  and  she  went  through  the  preparations  quietly 
enough,  but  with  her  face  pale  and  rigid  as  marble.  The 
only  evidence  beyond  this  was  the  pitiful  trembling  of  her 
poor  little  hands.  She  spoke  calmly,  however,  requesting  me 
to  hold  her  head,  not  her  hands,  and  as  she  sat  looking  up 
at  me  as  if  to  read  in  my  face  what  was  going  on  behind  her, 
I  believe  I  suffered  the  more  of  the  two. 

Then  Dr.  Belvin  lit  his  furnace,  and  the  roaring  of  the 
flame  that  was  to  heat  the  irons  to  a  white  heat  in  a  few 
seconds,  was  dreadful  to  hear;  and  while  this  was  going  on 
Prof.  Ball  marked  with  a  pencil  the  line  the  iron  was  to 
follow  on  either  side  of  the  spine.  Every  touch  of  the  pencil 
sent  a  thrill  through  the  delicate  frame  of  the  poor  victim; 
but  the  professor  had  scarcely  ended  making  the  penciled 
marks  when  with  a  flash  the  iron  was  applied.  The  white 
point  seemed  to  sink  an  inch  into  the  quivering  form,  with 
that  sickening  sound  of  burning  flesh — but  beyond  a  writh- 
ing of  the  body,  accompanied  by  deep,  heavy  breathing, 
there  was  no  response,  not  a  shriek,  not  a  sigh  nor  groan. 
The  doctor  had  nearly  completed  his  dreadful  task  when 
Clara,  suddenly  starting  up,  cried  out  in  a  voice  that  even 
moved  Prof.  Ball:  "My  God!  I  cannot — I  cannot  bear 
it!" 

It  was  all  over,  however,  and,  do  you  know,  she  helped 
replace  her  clothes,  after  the  wounds  were  dressed,  and 
walked   down  to  the  carriage.    The  doctor  said   it  was  a 


62  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

wonderful  exhibition  of  nerve.  She  is  quite  prostrated  to-day 
and  suffers  from  violent  pains  in  her  head.  The  doctor  says 
it  is  all  right,  and  she  will  be  up  and  well  soon,  but  to  us 
she  seems  alarmingly  weak.  I  forgot  to  say  that  she  was 
urged  to  have  the  operation  performed  while  under  chloro- 
form, but  positively  refused. 

Since  writing  the  above  we  have  learned  that  Dr.  Fordyce 
Barker,  of  New  York,  is  here  in  Paris,  and  we  are  going  to 
call  him  in,  in  consultation  with  Prof.  Ball  and  Dr.  Belvin. 
I  will  write  you  further. 

Ah !  Well  it  was  for  me  that  Dr.  Barker  came  upon 
the  scene,  for,  in  spite  of  my  diminishing  strength 
and  ever  lessening  vitality,  the  Paris  doctors  insisted 
upon  repeating  the  trying  operation,  and  as  I  was  no 
longer  strong  enough  to  go  to  them,  they  volunteered 
to  come  to  me  at  the  hotel.  The  hour  was  set  and 
the  day  had  arrived  before  Colonel  Piatt,  who  was 
the  acting  guardian  and  guide  of  his  wife,  his  sister 
and  myself,  had  succeeded  in  his  almost  frantic  search 
for  Dr.  Barker.  By  galloping  the  life  nearly  out  of  a 
poor  cab  horse,  he  managed  to  get  him  to  the  hotel 
a  scant  ten  minutes  ahead  of  the  arrival  of  Messrs. 
Belvin  and  Ball.  Only  ten  minutes,  but  long  enough 
for  him  to  swiftly  examine  the  patient,  his  sorely 
broken  countrywoman ;  for  surprise  to  become  amaze- 
ment and  amazement  indignation — long  enough  to 
reach  a  stern  decision.  He  gently  laid  my  thin  waxy 
hand  down  upon  my  knee  and  said:  "  We'll  have  no 
operation  to-day,  my  child.  You  are  afraid  there  may 
be  trouble?  Well,  don't  you  worry,  that's  all.  You 
have  worried  too  much  already.  There's  been  an  aw- 


THE  MOXA  63 

fill  mistake  here,  but  it's  going  no  further,  please 
God!  Trouble,  eh?  Well,  I'll  take  that  trouble  on 
my  shoulders.  Oh!  how  do  you  do,  gentlemen?  "  for 
the  two  doctors,  carrying  all  the  demnition  para- 
phernalia of  the  modern  Inquisition  with  them,  en- 
tered and  stood  amazed  at  the  presence  of  the  big, 
handsome  man,  with  the  big,  cordial  manner  and  no 
voice  to  speak  of.  Then,  as  Dr.  Barker  was  recog- 
nised professionally,  both  in  London  and  Paris,  as  a 
very,  very  great  gun  of  the  heaviest  calibre,  and 
socially  as  the  very  fine  flower  of  good  fellowship, 
they  greeted  him  with  extravagant  demonstrations 
of  regard.  When  Colonel  Piatt  asked  them  to  receive 
the  doctor  in  consultation  they  exchanged  glances  and 
answered  that  as  soon  as  the  moxa  had  been  applied 
they  would  gladly  consult  with  him. 

And  right  there  the  snag  that  was  to  prevent  fur- 
ther smooth  sailing  revealed  itself  to  all,  when  Dr. 
Barker  demanded  Immediate  consultation  and  im- 
periously removed  me  from  the  scene  by  the  simple 
expedient  of  picking  me  up  and  carrying  me  into  the 
next  room.  "  Wait  here,"  he  said;  "  I  may  want  you 
for  just  a  moment — but  have  no  fear;  there  is  to  be 
no  moxa  to-day,  nor  to-morrow  either!  "  and,  smil- 
ing his  kind  smile,  he  went  back — and  then,  oh,  dear  I 
very  soon  the  voices  rose  excitedly. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened.  "  Gentlemen !  "  cried 
Dr.  Barker,  entering;  "come  here  one  moment, 
please !  "  They  followed  him  in,  one  sullen,  the  other 
red  and  snappy.  My  champion  came  to  me,  raised 
me  to  my  feet,  and,  leading  me  to  the  wide  open 


64  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

window,  drew  back  the  curtain  and  let  the  full  blaz- 
ing light  in  upon  me.  "  Look,"  he  said,  and  he  held 
up  my  hand  to  the  light,  which  showed  through  it,  as 
lamplight  shows  through  the  hand — only,  alas!  with- 
out the  pinky  hue.  He  touched  my  lips  with  his  fin- 
ger. "  You  see,  gentlemen,  they  are  as  pale  as  her 
cheeks.  But,  see  this!"  he  exclaimed  angrily,  and  he 
lifted  my  lip  to  show  the  poor  pale  gums  within. 
"  There's  not  as  much  blood  in  her  body  as  many  a 
fish  carries.  Her  pulse  is  a  thread,  her  nerves  are 
visibly  a-quiver;  she  is  taking  no  food  other  than  a 
little  milk  or  less  broth;  she  has  failed  rapidly  in 
strength  since  the  first  application  of  the  iron.  You 
have  yourselves  just  told  me  of  her  immense  exertion 
of  will  power,  of  nerve  force,  to  endure  that  trial. 
Where  do  you  expect  her  to  find  that  power  to-day? 
— tell  me  that !  I  believe  In  the  moxa;  I  believe  in  It 
even  for  her — when  she  is  prepared  to  endure  it. 
Rest  her — feed  her — give  her  some  strength,  some 
blood,  before  you  venture  another  tremendous  shock 
to  her  nerves!  " 

"  But,"  Insisted  Professor  Ball,  "  our  judgment  Is 
for  the  continuation  of  the  moxa  at  once.  Our  prep- 
arations are  complete  and  we  will  proceed.  You  shall 
see  our  success  when " 

"You  shall  not  proceed,  monsieur!"  mterrupted 
Dr.  Barker.  "  Colonel  Piatt,  take  the  little  woman 
to  her  room,  or — oh,  excuse  me,  we  will  retire !  " 

They  withdrew,  but  the  door  was  left  partly  open, 
and  oh,  St.  Patrick's  day  In  the  mornin' !  As  the  ar- 
gument there  developed  Into  a  really  respectable  row. 


THE  MOXA  65 

Colonel  Piatt  said  my  cheeks  flushed  and  light  came 
back  into  my  eyes,  for  you  know  one  man  against  two 
is  an  inspiriting  sight,  and  my  doctor,  who  was  dog- 
gedly determined,  never  lost  his  dignity — scarcely  his 
temper,  until  in  an  outburst  of  rage,  broken  English 
and  pure  French  combined.  Professor  Ball  furiously 
ordered  Dr.  Belvin  to  light  the  furnace  and  at  the 
same  time  himself  advanced  toward  the  room  where 
I  sat. 

"  Stop !  "  commanded  Dr.  Barker.  "  Courtesy 
seems  wasted  here — etiquette  ignored!  Don't  you 
light  that,  doctor!  I  am  an  American — but  I  know 
Paris  well !  1  know  my  rights  perfectly !  Our  consul, 
our — oh,  curse  it,  man,  light  that  furnace  and  I'll 
throw  you  both  over  the  balcony !  " 

"  St.  Patrick  was  a  gentleman !  "  I  softly  hummed, 
for,  you  see,  I  profited  whatever  happened.  If  they 
failed  to  light  up — I  wouldn't  be  ironed  that  day.  If 
they  did  light  up — there'd  be  broken  bones  down 
there  on  the  pavement,  for  Fordyce  Barker  was  big 
enough  to  back  a  threat  with  action,  and  I — really, 
one  believes  in  heredity  after  all.  For  my  forbears, 
on  the  purely  American  side  of  me,  though  they  gave 
no  orders  but  obeyed  them  instead,  died  in  their 
tracks  wearing  the  ragged  uniform  of  their  country 
— just  common  men,  of  course,  who,  having  nothing 
else  to  offer,  gave  their  lives  and  had  for  reward  so 
fierce  a  fight  against  odds,  that  it  must  be  some  far 
faint  tang  of  its  joy  that  thrills  my  poor  nerves  to 
delight  whenever  a  man  has  his  back  to  the  wall — 
whenever  hands  are  put  up  in  a  fair  fight. 


66  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

So,  though  he  declared  the  scene  simply  outra- 
geous and  was  visibly  vexed  at  his  own  loss  of  self- 
control,  Dr.  Barker  won.  The  other  doctors  retired, 
their  properties  with  them,  and  I  saw  them  no  more. 
Dr.  Fordyce  Barker  continued  upon  the  journey  he 
had  delayed  in  the  name  of  his  life-long  friendship 
for  Colonel  Piatt — and  I,  having  followed  his  advice 
piously,  was  able  to  return  home  in  September,  from 
the  first,  the  last,  the  only  journey  that  since  my  mar- 
riage I  have  made  without  my  husband. 

I  returned  to  find  the  evil  prophecies  of  some 
Cassandra-like  friends  disproved  utterly,  completely. 
They  had  declared  piteously,  angrily,  w^arningly,  ac- 
cording to  their  individual  temperament,  that  I  was 
quite  mad  to  think  of  marriage;  that  the  public  would 
have  no  further  interest  in  me  or  my  work.  My  orig- 
inal, first  of  all  manager,  Mr.  Ellsler,  wrote  me  that 
I  would  never  see  another  full  house  of  my  drawing 
if  I  presented  myself  to  the  public  as  a  married 
woman.  Had  I  chosen  an  actor  husband,  then  as  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  So-and-so,  we  might,  like  Mr.  and  Mrs, 
Florence  or  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Conway,  slowly  and  pain- 
fully have  attained  to  a  doubtful  popularity — but  at 
the  very  beginning  of  a  brilliant  career  to  marry  a 
man  in  private  life  would  amount  to  professional  self- 
effacement;  he  advised  me  to  wait  a  few  years.  I  re- 
called the  fact  that  he  had  advised  a  ten  years'  wait 
before  venturing  into  New  York. 

The  remembrance  of  my  engagements  to  appear 
that  season  at  both  of  his  theatres  doubtless  gave  a 
certain  edge  to  his  very  genuine  fears,  for  no  man. 


THE  MOXA  67 

looks  forward  pleasantly  to  possible  bad  business,  and 
though  I  argued  patiently  and  smilingly,  with  all  my 
croaking  friends,  insisting  that  an  audience  cared 
nothing  for  the  woman  behind  the  artiste;  that  I  had 
never — to  use  the  slang  term — "  travelled  on  my 
beauty";  that,  anyway,  the  young  unmarried  male 
creature  was  but  one  of  the  component  parts  of  the 
great  public;  that  there  were  not  only  women  but 
hundreds  of  men  who  admired  the  actress  for  the  il- 
lusion she  created,  who  studied  her  methods  and 
praised  or  blamed  without  one  thought  of  the  desira- 
bility of  the  woman — all  repeated  over  and  over  with 
unshakable,  though  entirely  superficial  amiability,  for 
down  in  my  heart  there  was  hot  anger,  yes,  and  deep 
humiliation,  too.  This  new  and  unpleasant  view  of 
the  profession  I  honoured  with  all  my  heart  offended 
me  deeply.  And  though  it  might  be  the  true  one,  I 
stoutly  told  myself  that  the  popularity  that  could  be 
destroyed  by  an  honest  marriage  was  a  dubious  thing 
well  rid  of,  while  all  the  time  the  ache  of  tears  was 
in  my  throat  at  the  prospect  of  such  a  loss. 

So  when,  going  straight  from  the  altar,  as  I  might 
say,  to  the  stage  in  Pittsburg,  I  faced  a  packed  au- 
dience whose  reception  rose  from  applause  to  cheers, 
I  could  have  gone  upon  my  knees  in  humble  apology 
for  the  bitter  thoughts  and  fears  I  had  entertained. 
Yet  my  friend,  doubting  Thomas,  gravely  asserted 
that  that  was  merely  the  greeting  to  a  bride,  that  the 
enthusiasm  was  probably  only  momentary.  But  I 
laughed  happily  in  his  gloomy  face  and  left  him  at 
last  with  full  coffers  at  both  theatres.  And  thus  all 


68  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  engagements  made  for  the  unmarried  actress,  the 
married  one  had  filled  successfully,  triumphantly.  So 
that,  in  spite  of  broken  health,  managers  considered 
me  a  very  strong  dramatic  card — yet  it  required  the 
moxa  to  teach  me  that  the  public  had  a  heart.  One 
stranger  wrote:  "The  iron  that  burned  your  flesh 
made  thousands  writhe.  The  pallor  of  your  face  was 
reflected  on  the  faces  of  men  as  well  as  women,  as  they 
read."  Another,  from  halfway  across  the  continent, 
wrote :  "  No  man  who  ever  saw  you  in  '  Alixe  '  or 
'  Camille  '  would  hesitate  at  going  under  the  iron  for 
you.  The  sweat  runs  down  my  face  when  I  think  of 
you  having  to  endure  such  pain.  If  we  could  suffer 
vicariously  for  you  an  army  would  dispute  for  the 
privilege."  But,  most  touching  of  all,  a  little  boy 
wrote :  "  I  saw  you  once  in  a  play.  In  it  they  said  you 
was  not  a  very  good  woman,  but  I  know  you  was  and 
I'm  only  a  little  boy,  but  I  wish  I  could  be  burned 
lots  of  times  to  make  you  better." 

And  so,  from  press  and  private  letter,  from  North 
and  South,  from  East  and  West,  came  the  sweet  as- 
surance that  the  great  many-headed  public,  with  its 
alert  ears  and  its  jewelled  eyes  uncountable,  its  many 
hands,  strong  alike  to  build  up  or  tear  down,  had  a 
heart  warm,  tender,  and  opened  to  me  in  my  sore 
suffering  and  distress.  And  it  was  this  thrilling  con- 
tact with  the  people's  heart  that  gave  back  to  me  my 
queer  nervous  strength  and  my  joy  in  work,  with  a 
too  passionate  desire  to  serve,  unstintedly  to  serve, 
the  public  that  had  not  cast  me  forth  into  outer  dark- 
ness because  I  had  married. 


RIDDLE    OF    THE   NINETEENTH    CEN- 
TURY :   MR.  HENRY  BERGH 

"  Riddle  me  this — and  guess  him  if  you  can." 

— Dryden, 

I  SUPPOSE  no  great  effort  has  ever  been  made 
for  the  improvement  of  conditions,  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  the  human  race,  that  has  not  been 
met  with  bitter  opposition,  ridicule,  and  abuse  from 
the  people  at  large;  but  when  the  heroic  reformer 
with  a  spark  of  Christ-like  patience  says :  "  Forgive 
them,  Father,  they  know  not  what  they  do,"  and 
holding  steadily,  unswervingly  to  his  course,  reaches 
the  goal,  and,  though  weary  and  exhausted,  estab- 
lishes firmly  the  new  and  better  condition  of  affairs, 
the  people  are  apt  to  accept  the  benefits  accruing,  as  a 
mere  matter  of  course,  and  give  no  thought  to  the 
price  paid  by  the  reformer  for  his  success. 

To-day  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Animals  Is  a  recognised  power  for  good  through- 
out the  land.  The  most  prominent,  the  most  power- 
ful men,  the  most  gracious  and  Influential  women  are 
proud  to  serve  it;  while  the  bright-eyed,  observant 
babies  of  the  entire  country  are  its  eager  little  agents 
and  flying  messengers. 

It  has  offices  everywhere,  paid  officials,  agents, 
lawyers,    doctors,    workmen,    ambulances,    shelters, 

69 


70  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

machinery  for  rescue,  and  the  merciful  lifting  and 
lowering  of  fallen  beasts  of  burden.  To-day  all  such 
work  is  done  before  approving  and  admiring  eyes,  but 
once  it  was  a  different  story.  For  this  society  came 
into  existence  amid  a  very  storm  of  disapprobation, 
with  rumbling  jeers  and  imprecations  from  the  vul- 
gar and  debased,  flashing  with  the  sarcastic  and  ma- 
licious mockeries  of  the  thoughtlessly  indifferent.  In- 
famous cruelty  stalked  rampant  through  the  city.  The 
brutalities  familiarly  witnessed  on  every  hand  were 
coarsening  the  fibre  and  hardening  the  hearts  of  the 
people,  and  thus  low^ering  their  spiritual  standard. 
For  so  closely  interwoven  are  the  interests  of  man — 
made  in  God's  image — and  the  gentle  dumb  creatures 
given  to  his  service  and  his  care,  that  cruelty  and 
brutality  to  the  patient  beast  of  burden  result  in  the 
debasing  of  the  guilty  man  himself.  Therefore  this 
Society,  in  constituting  itself  the  defence  of  the  de- 
fenceless, truly  served  man  as  well  as  beast,  in  teach- 
ing him  to  control  if  not  to  conquer  his  savage  in- 
stincts— his  senseless  furies. 

In  that  splendid  library,  the  Bible,  one  reads:  "A 
grain  of  mustard-seed,  which  a  man  took  and  cast 
into  his  garden,  and  it  grew  and  waxed  a  great  tree." 
Yes,  verily  this  Society  has  grown  and  waxed;  it  has 
become  a  great  tree.  One  cannot  imagine  any  storm 
uprooting  or  overturning  it  now.  But  how  many  of 
those  who  find  rest  and  shelter  beneath  its  giant 
branches  give  a  thought  to  the  man  who  cast  the 
mustard-seed  into  his  garden ;  who  watched  for  the 
first  slim  lance  of  green  thrust  upward  from  the  earth ; 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  71 

who  nursed,  tended,  sheltered,  and  defended  its  slow, 
weak  growth,  who  cultivated  it  with  bleeding  fingers, 
and  watered  it  with  his  tears?  How  many  give  a 
thought  to-day  to  the  founder  of  this  Society,  so 
thoroughly  approved  by  all  classes? 

I  suppose  everyone  knows  that  Mr.  Henry  Bergh 
cast  the  mustard-seed  into  the  garden,  but  how  many 
people  know  anything  of  the  personality  of  the 
man?  How  many  know  the  moving  cause  of  his  great 
undertaking?  How  many,  indeed  I  Better  ask,  does 
anyone  know  what  moved  him  to  enter  the  lists  as 
sole  defender  of  suffering  animals;  I  shall  wait  long, 
I  fancy,  for  my  answer,  for  truly  the  man  was  a 
riddle,  so  let  us  guess  him  if  we  can. 

Somewhere  about  1605  or  1607  there  was  born 
into  the  world,  through  the  brain  of  the  Spanish 
soldier-poet  Cervantes,  the  famous  Don  Quixote,  that 
belated  knight-errant  who  should  have  lived  a  hun-' 
dred  years  before,  and  whose  grotesque  tilts  and  ludi- 
crous encounters,  in  defending  the  oppressed  and 
avenging  imaginary  wrongs,  have  sent  laughter  ring- 
ing through  palace,  camp,  and  home  alike  for  nearly 
three  hundred  years.  Laughter  that  is  half  denied 
by  the  sympathetic  moisture  of  the  eye;  for  this  poor, 
transposed  knight-errant  is  a  very  grave  and  hon- 
ourable gentleman,  trusted  by  his  friends  and  loved 
by  his  dependents;  and  the  purity  of  his  motives  lends 
to  his  utter  inability  to  see  things  as  they  really  are 
so  distinct  a  touch  of  pathos  that  Sancho  Panza  Is 
really  needed  to  tip  the  balance  to  the  comic  side. 

Who  has  not  seen,  who  cannot  recall  the  picture  of 


72  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  Don — tall,  gaunt,  grave,  hollow-eyed,  and  scant 
of  hair,  in  ancient  and  imperfect  armour,  sitting 
astride  bony  Roslnante,  and  ready  bravely  to  charge 
upon  the  windmill, — the  humble  and  protesting 
Sancho  Panza,  broad  as  he  is  long,  looking  on  from 
the  back  of  the  donkey,  whose  wisdom  seems  greater 
than  that  of  both  the  men  combined?  Now  this  Don 
Quixote  was  a  friend  of  my  childhood.  I  used  to  walk 
at  his  side  in  fancy,  and  wonder  quite  piteously  why 
he  could  not  see  what  a  dreadful  mistake  he  was  about 
to  make — I  being  a  very  practical  young  person  in- 
deed, this  dear,  blundering,  high-flown  old  Spanish 
gentleman  of  gallant  spirit  was  a  great  care  to  me, 
and  therefore,  small  woman  that  I  was,  I  loved  him 
much,  and  I — well,  I  think  I  care  a  great  deal  for  the 
old  Don  yet. 

One  day,  then,  when  I  had  been  so  long  married 
that  not  more  than  two  or  three  repetitions  of  my 
new  last  name  were  required  to  attract  my  surprised 
attention,  my  cockney  parlour-maid,  whose  face 
flushed  and  whose  tongue  thickened  curiously  every 
afternoon,  brought  to  me  a  card  that  startled  me 
into  reading  aloud  the  name  of  "  Mr.  Henry  Bergh." 

"  'Eavens!  "  cried  the  flushed  Abigail,  "  I  'ope  our 
'Ennery  hasn't  done  nothink  to  the  'osses!  But  'e's  an 
'ard  man,  's  our  'Ennery,  ma'am."  And  with  a  man- 
ner flatly  contradicting  her  expressed  hope,  delight- 
edly anticipating  an  Immediate  arrest,  she  proceeded 
to  "  show  the  gentleman  up." 

Advancing  to  greet  my  caller,  I  stopped  short.  I 
held  the  card  of  Henry  Bergh,  but  I  saw  the  tall, 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  ^i^ 

gaunt  form,  the  grave  dignity  of  bearing,  the  hollow 
cheeks,  the  austere  mouth,  the  piled-up  brow — full 
two  stories  high — and  the  gentle  eyes,  sad  to  melan- 
choly, of  Cervantes'  Don  Quixote !  I  heard  my  own 
voice  say  low,  "  An  incarnation." 

He  paused  in  his  grave  obeisance,  sensitive  as  mir- 
ror to  a  breath,  and  said,  inquiringly,  "  I  remind  you 
of  someone,  then?  " 

And,  my  jesting  devil  being  ever  at  my  elbow,  I 
swiftly  answered,  "  Yes,  you  remind  me  of  a  friend, 
dear  and  valued,  a  certain  country  gentleman  from 
la  Mancha." 

At  first  he  listened  blankly,  but  at  the  word  la 
Mancha  pained  recognition  sprang  into  his  eyes,  and 
a  slow,  dull  colour  crept  into  the  hollow  of  his 
cheeks.  Terrified  by  what  I  had  done,  I  rushed  on : 
"  But  you  are  a  Don  Quixote  whose  courage  and 
enthusiasm  are  not  wasted  upon  windmills.  You  have 
the  happiness  of  really  defending  the  oppressed  and 
avenging  the  cruelly  wronged,  instead  of  only  dream- 
ing of  it."  And,  absolute  sincerity  being  easily  recog- 
nised, he  took  my  offered  hand,  and  we  were  at 
peace. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  you  take  a  kinder  and  more 
gracious  view  of  my  resemblance  to  the  absurd  old 
Don  than  do  the  caricaturists  of  our  papers." 

And  I  laughed  back:  "  My  good  sir,  do  you  really 
imagine  the  millennium  has  begun,  that  you  expect  a 
jest  without  malice,  sarcasm  without  venom,  the  light, 
swift  stroke  of  a  keen  rapier  from  the  fist  that  only 
knows  how  to  wield  a  bludgeon?  " 


74  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

From  the  last  word  he  shrank  uncomfortably,  say- 
ing: "  He  wished  the  '  bludgeon  '  of  the  caricaturist 
were  the  only  one  in  active  use  in  the  city  ";  but  when 
he  gravely  and  carefully  explained  to  me  that  "  he 
was  7iot  a  millennialist,  could  not,  in  fact,  comprehend 
that  peculiar  form  of  belief,"  I  understood  that  a 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  would  never  endanger  his  life 
through  excessive  laughter. 

I  was  a  hero-worshipper  from  away  back  and  to 
my  mind  this  man,  who  was  making  such  a  fine  fight 
for  the  helpless,  was  a  hero.  Therefore  I  was  filled 
with  a  sort  of  reverent  curiosity,  and  both  eyes  and 
ears  were  set  wide  open  for  the  catching  of  any  scrap 
of  information  anent  the  "  why "  and  "  how  "  of 
that  fight;  and  behold,  the  first  Item  I  obtained  was, 
that  Mr.  Bergh  would  talk  of  almost  anything  under 
heaven — admitting  a  strong  preference  for  the 
theatre — save  and  except  Mr.  Bergh. 

That  being  the  case,  I  carefully  hoarded  every 
casual  remark,  every  stately  compliment,  every  criti- 
cal comment,  every  small  confidence,  every  expressed 
hope  of  his,  while  my  eager  eyes  were  photographing 
features,  poses,  gestures,  expressions,  even  half  ex- 
pressions. And  now  adding  to  these  memories  two 
or  three  anecdotes  from  one  who  knew  and  loved  him 
well,  I  have  my  sole  material  for  building  up  that 
trusted,  honoured,  ridiculed,  hated,  and  abused  bun- 
dle of  contradictions  known  as  Henry  Bergh. 

To  begin  with,  he  was  by  birth  and  breeding  a 
gentleman,  and  that  rare  creature,  an  exceptionally 
tall  man  who,  calmly  unconscious  of  his  height,  moves 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  75 

with  natural  ease.  A  well-dressed  man,  too,  showing 
a  quiet,  unostentatious  taste  in  colour  and  ornament, 
but  such  careful  attention  to  good  fitting  and  the  small 
details  of  costume  as  made  him  seem  especially  well 
dressed.  In  his  manner  of  grave  and  gentle  dignity 
he  could  not  have  been  excelled  by  any  Spanish  Don 
— the  most  courtly  of  men.  His  voice  was  gentle  and 
low;  his  face,  Quixote's  face,  long,  pale,  often  immov- 
able as  a  graven  image,  the  piled-up  brow  crossed  by 
a  sort  of  dividing  line;  his  eyes  light,  clear  blue,  and 
sad,  while  his  brows  had  a  trick  of  slowly  lifting,  now 
and  then,  that  gave  an  Inexpressible  weariness  to  the 
face.  Refined,  intellectual,  and  cold,  that  was  what 
he  looked;  and  to  myself  I  said,  how  deceptive  must 
be  the  human  face,  for  we  are  apt  to  associate  self- 
sacrifice,  generous  devotion  to  another's  welfare,  with 
a  certain  warmth  of  heart,  even  of  manner  and  ex- 
pression, just  as  we  associate  a  round,  smiling  face 
with  good-humour,  and  more  or  less  unconsciously 
we  are  given  to  the  habit  of  judging  others  by  our- 
selves. 

Now,  my  love  for  animals  Is  a  veritable  passion — 
crank  and  monomaniac  are  terms  oft  heard  behind 
my  back.  Not  merely  Is  my  love  for  my  horse  or  my 
dog,  but  for  everybody's  horse  or  anybody's  dog. 
My  heart  Is  a  sort  of  Noah's  ark  where  every  con- 
ceivable four-footed  thing  Is  welcome  with  his  mate. 
This  must  be  true,  else  why  does  the  lost  dog  spy  me 
out  in  even  a  Broadway  crowd,  and  ask  me  sobbing 
questions  as  to  his  missing  friends  and  future  fate? 
Why  does  the  shamed,  mangy  cur  creep  forth  to  rub 


76  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

himself  against  my  best  gown,  when  he  would  not 
dare  approach  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  any  other 
woman's  gown?  Therefore  I  said,  in  my  wisdom, 
how  great  must  be  the  love  of  Mr.  Bergh  for  ani- 
mals I  I  pictured  him  as  the  owner  of  satin-coated 
horses,  well-cared-for  cattle,  and  with  dogs  galore, 
watching  eagerly  for  his  recognition  and  kind  caress. 

Then  Mr.  Bergh,  making  a  second  call,  came  upon 
me  at  the  close  of  a  romp  with  my  two  small  canine 
idols.  That  he  did  not  notice  their  extreme  rarity  and 
beauty  surprised  me  somewhat,  but  when  the  largest 
— a  three-pounder  in  weight — sprang  upon  the  sofa, 
and  laid  a  small,  inquiring  paw  upon  his  knee,  the 
man's  whole  body  shrank  away,  and  unmistakable 
repulsion  showed  in  every  feature. 

Swiftly  recalling  that  this  man  was  striving  earn- 
estly to  establish  drinking  places  through  the  city  for 
the  heat-tortured  dogs  of  the  streets,  I  thought,  "  Oh, 
maybe,  like  many  other  men,  he  simply  dislikes  toys." 
So,  catching  the  little  beast  up  in  my  arms,  I  said, 
"  You  don't  like  him.  Is  it,  then,  because  he  is  so 
small?" 

"  No,  no,"  he  nervously  replied,  "  it's  not  that,  not 
its  size  at  all,  but  I — /  don't  like  dogs,  Miss 
Morris!  " 

Dumb  with  amazement,  I  stared  a  moment,  then 
grabbed  the  other  monster  from  her  cushion,  and 
carrying  both  to  the  next  room,  left  them  there,  say- 
ing to  myself  the  while,  "  Riddle  me  this,  and  guess 
him  if  you  can."  And  let  me  say  right  here,  that  one 
who  knew  Mr.  Bergh  years  to  my  days,  who  saw  his 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  ^^ 

sacrifices,  saw  his  sufferings  borne  in  heroic  defence 
of  horses,  tells  me  that  never  in  his  life  did  he  see 
Mr.  Bergh  lay  his  hand  upon  a  horse,  in  caress  how- 
ever slight;  never  saw  him  come  to  closer  touch  than 
by  the  taking  hold  of  a  bridle. 

It  Is  hard  for  the  people  of  to-day  to  realise  to 
what  lengths  the  people  of  that  day  went  in  their 
furious  opposition  to  the  Bergh  Crusade;  and,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  the  better  classes  were  as  bitterly  in- 
tolerant as  were  the  vindictive  and  cruel  lower  classes. 
Jeers,  maledictions,  threats  of  personal  violence,  of 
appeals  to  law,  insults  both  veiled  and  open,  he  bore 
calmly,  steadily,  without  outward  sign  of  suffering 
or  resentment;  but  there  was  another  weapon  turned 
against  him,  one  difficult  to  parry,  whose  wound  be- 
ing poisoned  rankles  long — that  weapon  was  ridicule. 

Oh,  small  wonder  that  the  poor  French  king 
cowered  before  the  lampoon's  cruel  mockery;  for 
just  as  trained  soldiers,  blood-drunk  and  in  full  fight- 
ing frenzy,  will  halt  before  the  cold  steel  of  fixed 
bayonets,  waver  and  break,  so  will  even  ordinary 
men  waver  before  derision.  And  this  man,  sagacious, 
sober,  sound,  was  sensitive  as  any  girl  to  mockery. 
The  jibes,  the  jeers,  the  satire  that  made  of  him  a 
laughing-stock  were  very  hard  to  bear.  Long  after 
the  power  of  the  decent  press  was  at  his  back  in  full 
strength,  a  snapping,  snarling  crowd  of  lesser  publi- 
cations pursued  him  with  ribald  jest  and  coarse  lam- 
poon, while  at  theatres  he  was  often  alluded  to  In  the 
most  farcical  and  grotesque  way. 

To  show  you  how  deeply  it  wounds  a  brave  man 


78  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

to  be  made  the  butt  of  a  city's  ridicule,  let  me,  with 
reverent  hand,  draw  back  the  curtain  upon  the  pic- 
ture of  the  private  den  of  Mr.  Bergh,  where,  with 
head  bowed  upon  his  bent  arm  in  boy  fashion,  he 
sheds  the  slow,  blistering  tears  of  disappointed  man- 
hood, strained  almost  to  the  breaking-point — almost, 
but  not  quite,  thank  God!  for  he  rose  to  go  forth  to 
his  first  triumph,  to  win  a  first  sign  of  approval  from 
the  people  who,  through  misunderstanding,  detested 
him. 

It  was  winter — the  snow,  generously  sprinkled 
with  sooty  blacks,  had  suggested  a  city  in  half  mourn- 
ing. At  some  street  corners  the  soiled,  mud-stained 
mass  had  been  heaped  in  banks.  With  insolent  dis- 
regard of  the  law,  salt  had  been  lavishly  used  on  the 
car-tracks.  The  great  arteries  of  the  city  were  con- 
gested— trafl'ic  was  delayed  by  dangerous  footing  and 
narrowed  roadways.  The  only  thing  that  moved  on 
at  regulation  speed  in  perfect  security,  was  the  pro- 
fanity of  the  veteran  horse-driver,  whether  enthroned 
on  truck  or  car. 

As  Mr.  Bergh  came  from  his  office,  he  found  a 
radiant  white  city,  bursting  into  blossom  with  a  mil- 
lion lights.  All  harsh  sounds  were  muffled  by  the 
snow-filled  air.  As  he  passed  through  the  small  park 
that  seemed  like  a  fairyland  of  snow  and  fire,  his 
heart  sank  low,  for  he  knew  his  city  well — knew  it 
was  hungry  now  and  hurrying  to  its  dinner,  and  he 
was  sure  he'd  soon  find  what  he  was  looking  for — 
trouble. 

Like  a  well-dressed,  sombre  ghost  he  went  striding 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  79 

down  the  snowy  street,  and  at  University  Place  he 
found  the  thing  he  had  expected — a  car  packed  in- 
side, almost  to  suffocation;  both  platforms  packed 
outside,  with  men  clinging  like  big  burrs  to  bottom 
steps  and  dashboard  rails;  and  before  it,  within  a 
cloud  of  steam,  two  ill-fed,  bony  horses,  with  blood- 
shot eyes  and  wide  red  nostrils  flaring,  in  their  effort 
to  fill  labouring  lungs  with  air — with  heaving  sides 
and  straining  backs  and  flanks — while  their  madly 
scrambling  feet  struck  fire  from  the  slippery  stones, 
as  they  strove  in  vain  to  start  again  the  awful  weight 
behind  them.  Curses,  oft-jerked  bell,  and  assisting 
yells  of  passengers  failed  of  effect.  The  driver's  whip 
was  raised  ready  for  the  stinging  blow,  when  sud- 
denly the  straining  effort  ceased,  the  horses'  heads 
drooped  low,  and  through  the  thick  air  there  loomed 
up  before  them  a  tall,  dark  form,  with  hand  up- 
raised commandingly.  And  calm  and  distinct,  two 
laconic  words  reached  all  ears,  "  Stop!  Unload!  " 

"Who  the  hell  are  you?"  furiously  demanded 
the  driver.  "  And  where's  your  authority  for  inter- 
fering with  this  trip?  " 

He  knew  well  enough  whom  he  was  talking  to,  but 
silently  Mr.  Bergh  turned  back  the  lapel  of  his  coat 
to  show  his  badge  (for  in  those  days  he  had  to  do 
constabulary  work  as  well  as  official),  then  repeated, 
"Unload!" 

But  being  tired,  hungry,  and  mad,  the  flood-gates 
gave  way,  and  the  passengers'  wrath  burst  forth. 
Abuse,  satirical  comment,  threats  filled  the  air.  To  a 
few,   who   remonstrated   decently  with  him,   he   ex- 


So  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

pressed  regret,  but  with  grave  politeness  insisted  on 
lightening  the  load,  telling  them  they  could  see  for 
themselves  the  utter  inability  of  the  horses  to  get 
them  to  the  end  of  the  line,  and  gently  urged  them 
hereafter  to  note  the  condition  of  crowding  before 
taking  a  place  on  a  car. 

The  conductor  was  especially  ugly,  and  became 
unpleasantly  demonstrative.  His  example  worked  like 
a  leaven  on  the  rest,  and  a  spirit  of  riot  began  to  show 
distinctly  in  the  crowd  closing  about  the  tall,  calm, 
self-possessed  man.  All  faces  scowled,  evil  names 
were  tossed  upon  the  air.  He  had  just  said,  "  You 
are  yourselves  increasing  this  delay;  you  might  have 
moved  two  minutes  and  a  half  ago,"  when  a  scur- 
rilous, great  brute  came  close  up  to  him  and,  with  an 
unspeakable  epithet,  shook  a  dirty  fist  directly  in  his 
face.  Without  the  flash  of  an  eye  or  the  quiver  of  a 
muscle  in  his  quiet  face,  Mr.  Bergh  caught  the  ruffian 
by  the  shoulder,  w'hirled  him  round,  grabbed  the  seat 
of  his  breeches  and  the  nape  of  his  neck,  and  with  a 
splendid  "  now  all  together !  "  sort  of  a  swing,  he  fired 
him  straight  across  the  street,  head-on,  Into  the  snow- 
bank. 

A  silence  of  utter  amazement  was  suddenly  broken 
by  one  great  swelling  laugh,  and  then  followed  the 
always  thrilling  sound  of  three  gloriously  hearty 
American  cheers.  Many  men  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Bergh  before  beginning  their  long  tramp  homeward; 
some  admitted  their  error  in  aiding  the  overloading. 

The  carmen  sheepishly  resumed  their  places  and 
the  horses  started  the  lightened  car,  and  the  friend 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  8i 

who  had  witnessed  the  incident  here  joined  him,  walk- 
ing silently  by  his  side,  until  at  last  in  a  low,  moved 
tone,  he  said:  "  It's  coming!  Yes,  I  have  faith  to  be- 
lieve now  that  it  is  coming — the  public  recognition 
and  indorsement  of  our  efforts.  Those  people  under- 
stood I  was  not  interfering  from  mere  love  of  med- 
dling. Yes,  I  think  they  understood."  And  beneath 
his  moustache  the  nervous  quiver  of  his  lips  betrayed 
his  agitation. 

They  understood,  yes,  but  not  what  he  thought 
they  did.  They  understood  that  the  man  who  had 
courage  and  also  the  physical  strength  to  back  it  and 
make  it  interesting,  and  who  could  yet  hold  both  in 
the  leash  of  good  breeding  and  self-control,  was  a 
man  to  listen  to,  and  New  York  began  to  listen  to  him 
from  that  very  night.  Toiite  dme  rencontre  en  ce 
monde  tine  oasis;  c'etait  I'heure  marquee  pour  lid! 

The  same  friend  who  walked  by  his  side  that 
snowy  night  has  seen  Mr.  Bergh  in  passing  through 
Fulton  Market  receive  fair  in  the  face  the  un- 
cleansed  lights  of  a  slaughtered  animal — flung  de- 
liberately by  one  of  the  furious  butchers,  the  act  re- 
ceiving guffaws  of  laughter  from  the  other  butchers 
looking  on — and  Mr.  Bergh  wiped  his  face,  which 
was  immovable  as  a  graven  image,  and  passed  on 
calm  and  cold  and  silent.  Sometimes  a  visit  to  the 
chemist's  shop  was  needed  to  have  stains  removed 
from  his  coat,  but  he  made  no  remonstrance,  and 
never  used  his  power  to  arrest  for  malicious  mischief, 
disorderly  conduct,  or  for  hideous  profanity  and  vile 
language  used  in  a  public  place.    Only  steadily,  un- 


82  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

fllnchingly  he  arrested  all  the  butchers  who  made  the 
moving  of  living  animals  to  the  abattoir  a  slow  prog- 
ress of  sickening  horror  and  anguish.  I  only  mention 
this  feature  of  his  hard  struggle  for  the  pleasure  of 
saying  that  the  time  came  when  a  long  line  of  broad, 
extended  hands  awaited  his  taking  whenever  he  passed 
the  same  butcher  stalls,  every  man  of  whom  declared 
that  "  what  the  old  man  said  stood,  and  if  it  couldn't 
stand  alone,  why,  they  were  behind  It — d'ye  see?  " 

But  before  that  time  arrived  there  came  a  dark, 
dark  hour.  The  powerful  press  had  taken  up  his 
cause — success  seemed  to  smile  into  his  eyes,  when 
the  money  gave  out.  As  yet  no  great  support  had 
come  to  the  Society  from  the  wealthy.  Bequests  were 
unknown,  and  the  work  he  was  doing  required  money, 
and  a  good  deal  of  it.  Shelter,  food,  care,  medicine 
for  the  suffering  creatures  rescued  from  brutal 
taskmasters,  had  all  to  be  paid  for,  to  say  nothing  of 
salaries  to  lawyer,  doctor,  agents,  etc.  Without  money 
the  Society  could  not  live.  And  then  happened  one 
of  those  things  that  we  sneer  at  In  stories  for 
their  unlikelihood.  In  a  hospital,  here  in  New 
York,  a  man  lay  near  to  death — a  Frenchman  he 
was,  whose  business  had  been  for  many  years  that 
of  trapper  and  fur-trader.  Living  among  and  dealing 
with  the  Indians,  he  had  seen  such  cruelties  practised 
upon  animals  that  memory  was  a  horror  to  him. 
Either  he  had  no  family,  or  he  had  drifted  away 
from  it,  for  he  was  quite  alone  in  his  keen  watch  of 
approaching  death. 

To  lighten  the  heavy  hours,  he  looked  at  the  pic- 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  83 

tures  in  magazine  or  paper,  and  noting  the  many 
so-called  "  comics  "  Mr.  Bergh  was  both  subject  and 
object  of,  he  remarked  one  day  to  an  attendant  that 
"  a  white  man  with  a  pencil  could  be  meaner  than  an 
Indian  with  a  tomahawk,"  which  led  the  attendant  to 
speak  of  Mr.  Bergh  and  his  crusade  at  length  to 
his  Interested  listener,  closing  with  a  sigh  and  the 
remark  that  rumour  said  his  work  was  greatly  ham- 
pered by  lack  of  funds. 

A  night  of  thought,  and  then  a  note  went  forth 
from  the  hospital  asking  if  Mr.  Bergh  would  call 
upon  a  patient  there,  by  name  M.  Bonnard.  Sur- 
prised, but  ever  courteous,  he  went.  The  sick  man 
described  the  horrors  he  had  seen,  and  then  expressed 
his  joy  that  someone  had  risen  up  to  show  the  world 
that  animals  had  some  rights  that  demanded  recog- 
nition and  respect. 

"  You  are  cool  and  wise  and  determined.  You  will 
go  far!  "  he  cried. 

And  Mr.  Bergh  quite  frankly  answered  "  he  could 
not  go  much  farther  without  help." 

"  But,"  excitedly  replied  the  trader,  "  I  shall  help 
you !  I  have  not  chased  the  dollar  all  these  years 
without  catching  him — now  and  then.  Mon  ami,  I 
am  a  lonely  man.  What  is  mine,  is  mine  alone,  to  do 
with  as  I  please,  and  raise  outcry  from  no  one.  Only 
promise  me  that  if  you  ever  have  the  power  to  reach 
so  far,  you  will  extend  your  protection  to  the  tor- 
mented wild  things  of  the  forest  and  plain,  and  what 
I  have  shall  be  at  your  service."  And  Mr.  Bergh, 
thinking  of  some  modest  little  sum  from  this  lonely 


84  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

hospital  patient,  thanked  him  cordially,  more  for  his 
words  of  appreciation  and  encouragement  than  for 
the  possible  future  gift,  which  would  probably  come 
too  late  to  be  of  much  service  to  the  Society,  and  went 
his  worried  anxious  way. 

A  few  days  passed,  then,  dazed  and  dazzled,  he 
sat  staring  at  a  scrap  of  paper  that  held  the  trader's 
gift  to  him.  M.  Bonnard  was  dead,  but  he  had  kept 
his  word,  and  had  helped  the  Society  for  the  Pre- 
vention of  Cruelty  to  Animals  to  the  extent  of  nearly 
$115,000,  or  every  cent  he  owned — a  noble  gift  to 
a  noble  cause,  with  a  touch  of  poetic  justice  about 
it,  for  from  animals  it  came  and  to  animals  it 
returned. 

Since  that  first  saving  bequest,  many  have  hon- 
oured themselves  In  honouring  the  claims  of  the  dumb 
and  helpless  creatures  left  to  man's  mercy;  and  when 
one  thinks  that  in  New  York  alone  In  one  single  year 
nearly  4,000  animals  were  suspended  from  labour  and 
cared  for,  552  disabled  horses  removed  from  the 
stony  streets  in  ambulances,  and  98,000  animals  of  all 
kinds,  small  and  large,  were  humanely  destroyed, 
while  56,000  cases  were  Investigated,  and  510  prose- 
cutions were  made,  one  begins  to  understand  how  vast 
is  the  labour  of  the  Society  and  how  great  the  need 
for  help. 

Mr.  Bergh's  sense  of  the  ludicrous  was  conspicu- 
ous by  its  absence.  If  you  have  to  dissect  a  joke  to 
explain  It,  it  is  apt  to  bleed  to  death  In  the  operation, 
and  dead  things  are  never  funny.  I  never  saw  Mr. 
Bergh  recognise  a  joke,  and  he  was  too  honest  to 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  85 

pretend  to  see  the  point  he  was  blind  to;  but  after 
careful  search  I  have  found  a  man  who  will  swear 
that  Mr.  Bergh  did  see  a  joke  once,  one  directed 
against  himself,  and  malicious  though  it  was,  he 
laughed  right  heartily. 

A  certain  driver  working  for  a  wholesale  firm 
in  Vesey  street  gave  much  trouble  by  extravagantly 
overloading  his  horse.  At  last,  finding  himself  so 
persistently  watched,  he  began  to  behave  better,  and 
the  espionage  was  lightened,  when  lo,  Mr.  Bergh, 
coming  down  town,  met  this  man  with  a  load  of 
boxes  so  high  that  heads  were  turning  all  along  the 
line  of  pedestrians  to  stare  at  it.  Instantly  the  long 
arm  was  raised  and  the  familiar  "  Stop !  You're 
overloaded!  "  was  heard. 

"  Why  do  you  take  advantage  of  my  supposed 
absence  to  pile  such  a  weight  as  that  behind  a  horse?  " 
asked  Mr.  Bergh  sternly.  " 

"  It  ain't  too  much  for  him !  "  growled  the  driver. 

"  Not  too  much?  "  cried  Mr.  Bergh.  "  Why,  that 
load  is  almost  two  stories  high  I  Lighten  it  at  once !  " 
And  somewhat  to  his  surprise,  without  the  usual 
blasphemous  offers  to  fight  before  yielding,  the  man 
turned  slowly,  the  boxes  swaying  dangerously  at 
their  giddy  height,  and,  with  the  following  crowd, 
drew  up  in  front  of  the  firm's  building.  Now,  had 
Mr.  Bergh  been  a  closely  observant  man,  he  would 
have  suspected  such  ready  obedience,  and  would, 
too,  have  noted  the  malicious  sparkle  in  the  fellow's 
eye  and  the  pucker  of  his  tobacco-stained  lips,  but 
he  noted  nothing  save  the   frightful  height  of  the 


86  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

load.  So  the  crowd  looking  on,  hoping  for  a  scrim- 
mage, saw  the  man  drop  the  restraining  ropes  and 
remove  box  after  box.  He  paused,  but  Mr.  Bergh, 
after  a  critical  walk  about  the  outfit,  motioned  him 
to  go  on  and  still  further  lessen  the  load.  With  a 
grin  the  man  obeyed.  The  sidewalk  was  nearly  cov- 
ered with  great  plled-up  cases,  when  Mr.  Bergh 
called  a  halt,  saying,  "That  will  do;  the  horse  can 
move  that  load  with  safety." 

"  He  can  that,"  replied  the  grinning  driver.  "  He 
can  move  It  widout  stralnin'  hlssel'  inside  or  out,  for 
ivery  dom  box  is  impty !  " 

Every  soul  In  the  crowd  broke  into  laughter.  As 
the  Irishman  climbed  to  his  place,  the  guardian  of 
animals  looked  at  the  empty  boxes  and  then  at  the 
sturdy  horse,  saw  the  joke,  and  joined  right  heartily 
in  the  laugh  against  himself. 

But  he  that  laughs  last  laughs  best,  and  the  fun 
was  not  yet  over;  for  Mr.  Irishman,  gathering  up 
his  reins,  gave  his  cluck  and  loud  "  GIt-up  there!  " 
all  In  vain.  The  horse  turned  his  head,  and  giving 
Mr.  Bergh  one  long,  steady  look,  switched  his  tall, 
and  stood  stock  still.  The  refusal  to  move  that 
trifling  load  was  utterly  ludicrous,  and  someone 
yelled,  "  Look  at  de  horse  standin'  In  wid  Bergh !  " 
while  another  shouted,  "  Well,  what  kind  of  a  beast 
would  he  be  If  he  didn't  lie  to  back  up  a  friend?  " 
and  amid  peals  of  laughter,  Mr.  Bergh  himself  took 
the  animal's  bridle  and  gave  him  a  lead  to  start  him, 
while  the  driver  was  pelted  with  hoots  and  jests  till 
clear  out  of  sight. 


MR.   HENRY  BERGH  87 

But  It  was  in  a  certain  incident  occurring  on  Fourth 
Avenue  and  Twenty-second  Street  one  morning  that 
Mr.  Bergh's  conduct  was  the  most  like  the  conduct 
of  the  gentle  and  dignified  Don  from  la  Mancha, 
whom  he  so  resembled  In  face  and  figure.  Gloved, 
caned,  perfectly  gotten  up,  with  flowering  button- 
hole and  all,  he  was  walking  briskly  to  his  oflice, 
when  from  behind  him  he  heard  such  frantic  mooing 
from  a  cow  as  told  plainly  of  suffering  and  wild  ex- 
citement, and  now  and  again  the  weaker  sound  of 
the  half  bleat,  half  bawl  of  a  very  young  calf. 

He  stopped,  faced  about,  and  saw  a  thick-set, 
sturdy  man  who,  with  the  aid  of  a  rope,  resounding 
blows,  and  many  oaths,  dragged  a  struggling,  pro- 
testing cow  down  the  avenue,  while  hunger-crazed 
and  thirsty,  a  weak-kneed  little  calf  stumbled  along 
trying  to  keep  up  with  the  frantic  mother.  Nor  was 
the  cow's  misery  merely  maternal  excitement — she 
was  suffering  cruelly.  She  was  fevered,  overweighted, 
her  bag  and  udders  so  swollen,  so  distended  that  the 
milk  dripped  and  trickled  to  the  pavement  as  she 
moved,  a  condition,  according  to  those  who  under- 
stand cattle,  of  excruciating  pain.  Hence  Mr.  Bergh 
to  the  rescue. 

He  halted  the  man  and  asked  "  Why  he  did  not 
allow  the  cow  relief?" 

The  man  glowered  stupidly,  then  sullenly  re- 
peated: "  Relafe?  Relafe?  Relafe  from  what?  I've 
druv'  no  finer  cow  thin  that  these  five  year!  " 

"  You  know  she  suffers,"  went  on  Mr.  Bergh, 
"  and  so  does  that  calf — it's  weak  with  hunger." 


88  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

The  sulky  drover  was  all  the  time  keeping 
the  small  creature  away  from  the  tempting  milk. 
"Hungry,  is  it?"  he  grunted.  "Well,  what  of  it? 
Sure,  it's  nothin'  but  a  calf — it's  no  good!  " 

"Well,  the  cow's  some  good,  isn't  she?"  went 
on  the  interfering  gentleman.  "  Why  don't  you  ease 
her  pain?  Just  look  at  those  dripping  udders!  It's 
shameful.    Let  the  calf  go  to  her!  " 

But  fairly  dancing  with  rage,  the  man  refused, 
crying  out  that  that  condition  would  bring  him  a 
better  bargain  in  selling  the  animal.  Then  Mr.  Bergh 

declared  officially,  "  This  calf  is  going  to — to " 

Perhaps  he  did  not  know  the  technical  term,  or  per- 
haps its  sound  was  offensive — at  all  events,  what  he 
said  was,  "  This  calf  is  going  to  breakfast  right  here 
and  now!  Tie  the  cow  to  this  hydrant!  You  won't? 
Do  you  wish,  then,  to  be  arrested?  "  and  he  showed 
his  badge,  and  taking  at  the  same  moment  the  rope 
from  the  ugly,  but  now  stupefied  man,  he  himself 
led  the  cow  to  the  corner  and  tied  her  with  his  own 
neatly  gloved  hands;  and  as  the  frantic  moos  had 
brought  the  neighbours  to  their  windows,  there  were 
many  laughing  lookers-on  at  the  unusual  picture  of 
an  elegant  and  stately  gentleman  standing  guard  over 
a  red  cow  with  brass  buttons  on  her  horns,  while  her 
spotted  baby  calf  began  the  milk-storage  business 
with  such  reckless  haste  that  the  white  fluid  drizzled 
from  either  side  of  its  soft,  pink  mouth,  and  the 
mother  meantime,  not  to  waste  the  blessed  oppor- 
tunity, hastily  but  tenderly  made  its  toilet.  And 
though  to  the  human  eye  she  licked  the  hairs  mostly 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  89 

the  wrong  way,  the  two  most  interested  seemed  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  result. 

And  there  the  tall  man  stood  in  patient,  dignified 
waiting,  while  the  enraged  owner,  with  a  few  sym- 
pathising male  and  female  compatriots,  made  the 
air  blue  about  them — stood,  until  at  last  baby-bossy 
let  go  and  faced  about,  when  two  long,  contented 
sighs,  and  the  calm  glances  of  two  pairs  of  big  soft 
eyes  told  their  protector  his  work  was  done  and  to 
their  complete  satisfaction.  Then  he  loosed  the  rope, 
gave  it  into  the  owner's  hand,  and  having  in  a  public 
avenue  superintended  a  young  calf's  breakfast  and 
toilet,  he  calmly  resumed  his  way,  and  all  unrumpled 
entered  his  office,  the  whole  thing  being  like  a  page 
torn  from  "  Don  Quixote." 

That  Mr,  Bergh  was  fond  of  the  theatre  seems 
natural  enough — it  rests  and  amuses  many  busy  men; 
but  it  did  not  seem  so  natural  that  a  man  of  such 
marked  executive  ability,  of  such  courage,  tenacity, 
and  endurance,  should  burn  with  an  ambition  to  write 
plays.  Nevertheless,  that  was  the  dear  desire  of  his 
heart,  and  in  spite  of  his  cold  reserve  and  stately 
dignity,  he  was  willing — nay,  eager — to  sit  as  pupil 
at  the  knee  of  any  earnest  actress  who  would  listen 
to  his  hopes  and  look  at  his  work.  For,  much  against 
my  will,  I  must  admit  that  the  plays  produced  by 
that  zealous  and  sincere  student  of  the  drama  might 
well  have  been  the  lucubrations  of  a  clever  girl  of 
sixteen  years.  For,  believe  me  if  you  can,  their  one 
and  only  motive  was  ever — love.  They  were  five-act 
raptures — not  of  strong,  moving  passion,  mind  you, 


90  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

but  of  mere  sentiment.  A  dramatisation  of  "  The 
Children  of  the  Abbey  "  would  have  been  strong 
and  turbulent  by  the  side  of  any  one  of  those  plays 
I  read. 

And  that  was  the  work  of  the  man  who  had  faced 
a  nation's  ridicule,  had  bent  the  legislature  to  his 
will,  and  was  educating  a  people  to  serve  God  and 
themselves  by  granting  mercy  to  the  dumbly  suffering 
creatures  about  them. 

Though  my  knowledge  of  Mr.  Bergh  came  only 
from  what  I  call  a  "  parlour  friendship,"  which,  no 
matter  how  longi  never  equals  a  "  working  friend- 
ship," yet  it  must  be  remembered  that  I  was  studying 
him  from  the  first  with  one  object  in  view,  to  learn 
why  he  undertook  the  labour  of  his  life.  And  I 
learned  just  what  everybody  else  had  learned:  that 
the  unspeakable  cruelty  of  a  Russian  driver  in  a  St. 
Petersburg  street  had  first  aroused  his  resentment. 
The  gendarme  had  refused  to  arrest  the  brutal  fel- 
low. A  crowd  had  threatened  Mr.  Bergh,  and  he 
had  barely  escaped  maltreatment.  Next  day — he 
was  Secretary  of  Legation  there — he  had  donned 
some  court  dress  and  ribbons  and  orders,  and  going 
alone,  back  to  the  dangerous  quarter,  had  picked  out 
his  man,  who,  grovelling  at  the  display  of  sup- 
posed official  power,  was  arrested  and  taken  before 
the  proper  authorities.  This  opera-bouffe  incident 
amused  him  not  at  all,  and  his  description  of  the 
sickening  brutality  was  given  in  the  cold,  even,  un- 
disturbed voice  of  disapproving  justice. 

And  there  I  was — and  here  I  am. 


MR.  HENRY  BERGH  91 

I  have  Inquired  from  those  who  worked  at  his 
side,  of  those  who  to-day  splendidly  head  the  now 
powerful  Society,  and  they  know  no  more  of  that 
mysterious  "  why  "  than  I  do. 

He  was  a  cool,  calm  man.  He  did  not  love  horses; 
he  disliked  dogs.  Affection,  then,  was  not  the  moving 
cause.  He  was  a  healthy,  clean-living  man,  whose 
perfect  self-control  showed  steady  nerves  that  did 
not  shrink  sickeningly  from  sights  of  physical  pain; 
therefore,  he  was  not  moved  by  self-pity  or  hysterical 
sympathy.  One  can  only  conclude  that  he  was  born 
for  his  work.  He  was  meant  to  be  the  Moses  of  the 
domestic  animal,  meant  to  receive  the  "  tables  of  the 
law  "  for  their  protection,  and  to  coax,  drive,  or 
teach  the  people  to  respect  and  obey  those  laws. 

How  else  can  you  explain  that  large,  calm,  Im- 
personal sort  of  justice,  that  far-seeing  pity  that  was 
not  confined  to  the  sufferers  of  the  city's  streets,  but 
sent  forth  agents  to  protect  the  tormented  mules  and 
horses  of  the  towpath ;  to  search  out  the  Ignorant 
cruelties  of  the  rustic,  whose  neglect  of  stock  caused 
animal  martyrdom — the  Incredible  horrors  of  sta- 
bling In  cellars  and  roofless  shanties.  Good  God!  the 
hair  rises  at  the  thought  of  the  flood  of  anguish  that 
man  tried  to  stem  and  stop. 

No  warm,  loving,  tender,  nervous  nature  could 
have  borne  to  face  It  for  an  hour,  and  he  faced  and 
fought  It  for  a  lifetime.  His  coldness  was  his  armour, 
and  Its  protection  was  sorely  needed. 

"  A  grain  of  mustard-seed,  which  a  man  took  and 
cast  Into  his  garden."    How  glad  I  am  that  God  let 


92  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

this  man  sec  the  tree  waxing  and  growing  from  the 
mustard-sccd  of  his  casting  ere  he  departed  and  left 
his  great  work  to  others.  And  happy  has  Mr.  Bergh 
been  in  having  his  work  carried  forward  by  brave 
and  loyal  men,  who,  while  loving  and  honouring  his 
memory,  yet  do  this  labour  for  its  own  sake. 

Leaving  bequests  and  giving  great  gifts,  like  auto- 
mobiling,  are  the  joys  of  the  rich.  I  am  a  bread- 
winner only,  but  if  I  were  a  rich  woman,  how  swiftly 
would  I  benefit  this  Society,  whose  work  is  so  great, 
so  far-reaching,  and  so  continually  needed.  I  would 
do  it  for  pity's  sake,  for  the  beasts  God  has  left 
dumb,  and  for  sweet  friendship's  sake  for  Don 
Quixote  n. — Mr.  Henry  Bergh.  And,  after  all,  I 
end  as  I  began,  "  Riddle  me  this — and  guess  him  if 
you  can,"  for  I  confess  I  cannot. 


VI 
SARAH  SIDDONS'S  TRYST 

SHE  was  an  ancient  crone,  in  very  truth,  who 
told  this  tale  to  me.  An  Englishwoman  born 
and  bred,  whose  whole  life  had  been  passed 
upon  the  stage — indeed,  'twas  by  the  scant  margin 
of  one  single  hour  that  she  escaped  being  born  In 
the  greenroom  of  a  theatre. 

Her  father  before  her  had  been  that  thing  we 
wonder  at,  "  a  strolling  player,"  and  had  once  been 
jailed  by  a  country  constable  as  a  vagabond  and 
mountebank,  when  he  was  giving  "  To  be  or  not  to 
be?  "  from  a  stage  supported  without  unanimity  by 
four  unwilling  barrels.  But  even  so,  stroller  as  he 
was,  he  had  had  his  honours,  he  had  climbed  to  a 
truly  dizzy  height;  for  through  one  never-to-be-for- 
gotten week,  in  some  far  Scottish  town,  he  had  acted 
divers  parts  with  that  queen  regnant  of  the  British 
stage — that  goddess  of  beauty — great  Sarah  Siddons. 
And  when  he  died,  the  six  old  programmes  of  that 
golden  week  were  the  sole  inheritance  of  his  actress 
daughter;  and  when  in  her  old  age,  while  following 
the  fortunes  of  her  only  son,  she  came  to  America, 
the  vilely  printed,  yellowing  rags  of  bills  came  with 
her,  and  were  prized  as  other  women  prize  webs  of 
lace  or  ancient  bits  of  silver. 

93 


94  THE  LIFE  OF  A   STAR 

She  was  an  actress  of  the  olden  time,  and  knew 
the  hiws  written  and  unwritten,  and  all  the  tricks  of 
her  trade.  She  "  sawed  the  air  "  and  mouthed  her 
tragedy,  tore  her  passion  to  tatters,  and  skipped  and 
tittered  through  her  comedy  after  the  ancient  fashion 
— but  her  memory  was  long  and  true.  I  liked  to  hear 
her  broad-vowelled,  full-throated  talk;  and,  dear 
Heaven,  but  she  loved  the  exercise !  And  so  she  often 
found  me  hanging  on  her  words,  my  clasped  hands 
resting  on  her  broad  knee,  for  she  was  a  very  Fal- 
staff  of  a  woman,  who  required  especial  chairs  for  her 
safe  support;  whose  red  and  venous  cheeks  sagged 
heavily,  and  were  but  the  redder  from  comparison 
with  the  white  curls  bobbing  against  them.  And  yet 
she  drank  her  beer  from  a  great  stone  mug  at  high 
noon  each  day,  and  again  at  midnight,  and  ate  her 
cold  beef  and  pickles  and  cheese — cheese — cheese, 
and  laughed  through  all,  her  deep,  side-shaking 
laughter,  and  gave  no  thought  to  yet  increasing  fat; 
but  talked  and  talked  and  told  of  the  power  and 
the  potency  of  the  name  of — Kemble. — Philip? — 
Charles?  I  know  not  now;  I  only  recall  clearly  that 
night,  when  the  heavy  beating  of  the  rain  against 
the  windows  must  have  damped  down  her  laughter, 
since  she  called  me  to  her  on  my  late  return  from 
the  theatre,  and  with  tender  voice  told  me  of  another 
night,  when  she,  a  great  girl  of  twelve,  had  sat  upon 
her  father's  knee,  when  the  country  Inn  was  chill  and 
damp,  and  they  could  ill  afford  a  fire,  and  he  had 
wrapped  her  well  In  his  old  travelling  cloak,  and 
held  her  closer  as  the  candle  flickered  In  the  draught. 


SARAH  SIDDONS'S  TRYST  95 

and  told  her  this  story  of  England's  idol,  Sarah 
Siddons,  and  of  the  tryst  she  kept. 

"  Like  many  a  one  older  and  wiser  than  yourself," 
said  he,  "  you  think  this  woman  whom  the  mob  ap- 
plauds and  the  great  ones  honour,  has  known  but 
success  and  triumph  all  her  life.  But  oh,  my  little 
maid,  each  goblet  filled  for  human  lips  contains  some 
bitter  drops,  and  though  hers  held  but  few,  they 
may  have  made  the  harder  swallowing,  because  the 
bitterness  lay  upon  the  top,  where  should  have  been 
but  dancing  bubbles  from  the  amber  depths  and  all 
the  froth  and  sweetness  of  her  youth. 

"  But  for  her  unwise  marriage  she  might  not  have 
known  that  dreadful  night,  when  the  London  that 
fairly  crouches  at  her  feet  to-day  struck  fiercely  at 
her.  The  groundlings'  laugh,  the  gallery's  hiss;  'tis 
hard  even  for  a  man  to  bear  them,  be  he  ever  so 
thick  of  skin  or  tough  of  fibre,  but  for  a  woman  of 
sensibility  and  pride — good  God,  it's  like  the  flaying 
of  her  alive ! 

*'  Ay,  my  lass,  though  you  open  wide  your  mouth 
and  eyes  at  the  wonder  of  it,  'tis  true  withal,  Sarah 
Siddons  once  felt  the  agony  and  the  shame  of  failure, 
and  for  a  few  years,  that  must  have  seemed  like  ages 
in  their  passing,  driven  from  the  paradise  of  London- 
town,  suffered  in  the  purgatory  of  the  provinces. 
Travelling,  rehearsing,  making  her  stage  gowns; 
studying  the  lines  of  new  characters  while  pressing 
an  ailing  babe  to  her  breast;  and  acting,  acting,  act- 
ing all  the  time,  good  parts  and  bad  parts,  comedy 
and  tragedy,  she  allowed  herself  no  rest;  and  the 


96  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

stinging  lash  that  kept  her  to  her  work  was  the 
memory  of  the  jeering  laughter  and  the  hiss  that  had 
come  to  her  across  the  footlights  that  night  in  Lon- 
don-town, when  she  had  perforce  gone  fasting  to  her 
hed,  praying  she  might  die  ere  the  new  day  came, 
and  the  story  of  her  defeat  should  reach  the  father 
and  the  mother  who  had  cast  her  off. 

"They  had  expected  so  much  of  her;  they  had 
talked  so  largely,  in  true  Kemble  fashion,  of  the 
triumphs  she  was  to  win — and  she  had  failed,  and 
they  would  be  sore  ashamed  at  the  close  kinship 
between  them;  and  perhaps  they  might  even  rejoice 
now  that  her  name  was  Siddons,  since  Kemble  had 
ever  been  a  synonym  of  success. 

"  Early  in  the  next  morning,  young  Siddons  hav- 
ing sold  his  wife's  best  pelisse  that  he  might  pay  their 
small  score  at  the  inn,  they  were  about  departing, 
when  Sarah,  all  cloaked  and  hatted,  stepped  back  to 
the  room  a  moment,  and  her  husband  heard  her 
whispering  something  there. 

"  '  To  whom  do  you  speak,  sweetheart?  '  he  asked 
wonderingly. 

"  She  looked  oddly  at  him,  and  oddly  she  an- 
swered, '  I  make  but  a  tryst  with  the  woman  who 
has  suffered  here,  a  tryst  I'll  surely  keep — anon !  ' 

"  She  smiled  wistfully,  gave  a  last  glance  about 
her,  then  nodding  her  head,  slowly  she  repeated, 
'  Anon !  I'll  keep  my  tryst,  anon !  '  and  left  the  room, 
the  inn,  and  London-town. 

"  During  those  slow  years  of  exile,  while  Sarah 
Siddons  was  toiling  to  make  of  herself  an  actress 


SARAH  SIDDONS'S  TRYST  97 

great  enough  to  justify  her  birthname,  Kemble,  time, 
too,  oh,  marvellous !  was  working  for  and  not  against 
her;  delicately  filling  out  certain  hollows  about  neck 
and  shoulders,  changing  angularities  to  lovely  curves. 
Some  there  were  who  roundly  vowed  that  she  had 
even  grown  by  Inches,  but  that  was  drivel.  Taller 
she  was  in  sooth,  but  'twas  port  and  dignity  that  lifted 
her  so  high,  not  o'er-late  growth  of  limb.  And  the 
voice,  safe  housed  in  her  strong  white  throat,  time 
was  slowly  but  surely  changing  that.  Clear  and  cold 
and  penetrating  It  had  been,  but  'twas  growing 
deeper,  richer,  and  flexible  as  any  singing  woman's; 
while  bitter  memories  of  wounded  pride  and  tender 
ones  of  early  love,  gave  a  touch  of  human  tenderness, 
whose  power  was  all-subduing — a  tone  of  voice 
possessed  by  no  other  Kemble,  however  great  or 
famous.  Thus,  time  and  the  woman  worked  to- 
gether to  produce  the  great  actress  that  was  soon 
to  conquer  not  merely  England,  but  Great  Britain. 

"  After  several  seasons  of  general  work,  she  had 
decided  to  place  her  trust  in  tragedy  alone,  and  she 
devoted  herself  to  that  class  of  play  so  successfully 
that  people  were  already  beginning  to  talk  of  her, 
when  an  Incident  occurred  that  worked  to  her  great 
advantage.  During  one  of  her  most  woful  scenes, 
a  lady  auditor  was  so  overcome  with  emotions  of 
pity  and  of  terror,  that  she  swooned  away  and  was 
borne  out  to  her  coach.  This  testimony  to  SIddons's 
growing  power  was  passed  from  lip  to  lip;  by  letter 
It  travelled  up  to  London,  then  bored  and  hungry 
for   sensation.    Next   followed   rumours   anent   the 


qS  the  life  of  a  star 

grace  and  beauty  of  the  young  tragedienne,  and  big- 
hatted  belles  with  arms  thrust  elbow-deep  in  modish 
muffs,  listened  with  supercilious  brows  and  curling 
lips  to  wigged  and  jewelled  beaux  who,  snapping 
and  tapping  their  snuffbox  lids,  profanely  wondered 
how  long  the  loutish  managers  meant  to  keep  them 
waiting  for  a  sight  of  the  new  actress,  who,  'twas  said, 
made  other  women  in  the  play  look  like  country 
wenches,  so  great  was  the  beauty,  where  the  colouring 
of  a  young  milkmaid  was  added  to  the  manner  and 
the  movement  of  a  duchess  royal. 

"  At  last  these  plaints  and  court  demands  reached 
the  managerial  ear — for  the  London  manager  is 
adder  deaf  to  all  provincial  claims — and  lo !  one  day 
came  a  letter,  blottily  written  on  blue  paper,  sealed 
with  scarlet  wafers,  that  curtly  offered  to  Sarah 
Siddons  a  brief  engagement  with  a  brief  salary  at 
Drury  Lane  Theatre,  London. 

"  O,  magic  word !  O,  open  sesame  to  all  the  good 
things  of  the  w^orld!  To  her  London  might  spell  a 
home,  competence,  social  position,  and,  above  all 
else,  fame ! — the  one  thing  she  was  greedy  for.  And 
when  her  doubting  husband  murmured,  '  Might  she 
not  fail  again?'  she  turned  upon  him  with  cold 
anger,  exclaiming,  '  Sir,  Kembles  are  not  born  to 
fail  twice  in  a  lifetime!'  And  when  her  letter  of 
acceptance  had  gone  forth,  she  nodded  her  head 
gently,  and,  as  if  answering  one  who  Importuned 
her,  said:  '  Anon  !  I'll  keep  my  tryst  with  thee,  poor 
heart !  Anon !  Then  only  can  we  rest.' 

"  And  though  her  words  filled  with  amaze  the  lov- 


SARAH  SIDDONS'S  TRYST  99 

ing,  jealous  husband,  he  dared  neither  question  nor 
catechise. 

*'  And  then  had  come  that  night,  when  at  old 
Drury  Lane  the  rank  and  fashion  and  brain  of 
London-town,  in  a  very  transport  of  approbation, 
had  seen  a  woman,  as  true  and  pure  as  she  was  rarely 
beautiful,  put  forth  her  strong,  white  hands  and 
secure  the  magic  flower  of  success! 

"  It  was  the  night  when  the  privileged  stare  of 
George  of  Wales,  having  ended  in  flushed  and  smil- 
ing admiration,  the  new  actress  had  been  caught  up 
to  the  very  heights  of  fashion.  The  night,  my  child, 
when  as  Belvidera,  in  old  Tom  Otway's  play,  '  Venice 
Preserved,'  'twas  said  she  thrilled  the  audience  with 
her  beauty,  she  froze  it  with  terror  at  her  madness, 
and  melted  It  again  with  her  three  wordless  cries  of 
sorrow. 

"  Ah,  it  was  a  wondrous  night !  And  there  were 
posies  and  messages  and  cards,  from  my  Lady  This 
and  That,  and  by  and  by  the  regular  habitues  of  the 
greenroom  were  crowded  to  the  very  walls  by  the 
headlong  surge  of  London's  greatest  men,  who 
wished  to  offer  homage  to  the  newly-risen  star,  while 
finally  the  powerful  Lady  North  invited  Sarah  to 
sup  with  her  that  night. 

"  Now  Mr.  Siddons  loved  the  nobility  with  all 
his  soul,  and  with  obsequious  gratitude  would  have 
accepted  this  invitation  for  his  wife  had  she  not 
swiftly  interfered,  saying  she  had  a  previous  engage- 
ment, and  no,  it  could  not  be  broken.  Her  humble 
duty  to  her  ladyship  she  would  gladly  make  at  any 


loo  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

time  appointed — only  should  she  break  her  solemn 
pledge,  the  great  Lady  North  would  in  her  heart 
think  ever  poorly  of  her  servant. 

"  And  so  majestic  was  her  manner  of  speaking, 
that  the  messenger  went  back  to  Lady  North  and 
told  her  Siddons  was  well  worth  waiting  for,  and 
far  too  rare  a  creature  to  crush  incontinently. 

"  Early  in  the  evening  Mr.  Siddons  had  seen  his 
wife  sending  forth  a  messenger,  but  he  was  too  much 
occupied  to  inquire  for  what  purpose.  So  when  they 
left  the  theatre,  he  was  surprised  to  find  her  turning 
in  the  wrong  direction.  He  corrected  her  rather 
shortly,  for  the  memory  of  that  rejected  supper  in- 
vitation rankled  still.  But  she  made  stern  answer: 
'  We  go  to  our  old  lodging  for  an  hour.  I  have  my 
tryst  to  keep !  ' 

"  And  while  he  glared  at  her  in  astonishment, 
there  came  to  him  the  picture  of  his  wife,  standing 
hatted  and  cloaked,  whispering  to  the  empty  room, 
and  a  chill  creep  came  into  his  blood  as  though  she 
were  uncanny. 

"  'Twas  a  poor  place  of  entertainment,  and  as 
they  made  their  way  to  the  well-remembered  room, 
he  gave  thanks  to  the  gods  that  better  things  had 
come  to  them  at  last. 

"  All  her  life  Sarah  Siddons  had  been  called  a 
cold,  cautious,  and  most  politic  woman,  but  on  that 
one  night  she  seems  to  have  yielded  herself  utterly 
to  sentiment.  Her  husband,  having  closed  the  door, 
turned  to  find  her  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  ill-lit 
room,    looking    down    upon    the    table,    where    was 


SARAH  SIDDONS'S  TRYST         loi 

roughly  served  a  crusty  loaf,  some  cheese,  and  old 
brown  mead,  and  he  cried  out,  '  Was  it  for  this  you 
turned  your  back  upon  light  and  luxury,  wine  and 
brilliant  company?' 

"  But  she  answered:  '  Nay  I  'twas  for  the  woman 
who  sorrowed  here  that  awful  night.' 

"  His  eyes  sank  before  her  brilliant  gaze,  and 
suddenly  he  saw  that  there  was  a  wonderful  running 
together  of  opposite  things.  This  radiant  creature, 
with  rose-flushed  cheeks,  was  Success  personified — 
Success,  thrice  triumphant!  In  youth,  in  beauty,  and 
in  art,  great  Sarah  Siddons !  And  yet  how  close  in 
point  of  time  she  came  to  that  other  creature  crushed 
and  forlorn,  who  bore  the  same  name;  and  he  began 
to  understand,  though  dimly,  why  they  were  there 
again. 

"  '  Do  you  remember,'  she  asked,  '  the  woman 
who  suffered  here?  She  was  so  young — spoiled,  too, 
and  misled  by  home  praise  and  large  talk  of  her 
great  gifts,  but  brave  and  very  hopeful;  and  she 
strove  so  hard  to  win  success,  and  smiled  and  strug- 
gled on,  until  her  courage  broke  against  a  brutal 
hiss?  Dear  God,  that  hiss!  It  entered  at  the  portal 
of  her  ears,  and  burning  like  liquid  fire,  made  cir- 
cuit of  each  chamber  of  her  brain,  then  followed  the 
coursing  blood  until  to  the  very  soles  of  her  weary 
feet  she  glowed  with  shame !  'Twas  here  she  fell, 
with  arms  outstretched  across  this  table,  and  hid  her 
face  from  view.  And  then  suddenly,  her  worn, 
neglected  body  craving  nourishment,  she  put  forth 
her  hand  for  food,  but  found  neither  bread  nor  cheese 


I02  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

nor  wherewithal  to  purchase  them!  And  so  she  went 
fasting  to  her  hed;  but  in  the  morning,  ere  she  left 
the  cruel  city,  she  had  made  solemn  tryst  with  that 
suffering  Sarah  Siddons  who  had  failed,  and  promised 
that  if  ever  triumph  came,  if  ever  she  won  success,  as 
famous  Sarah  Siddons,  she  would  return  to  that  same 
room  and  sup  full  with  her,  and  pride  and  gratitude 
might  drive  away  the  memory  of  that  hiss!  Now 
she  is  keeping  faithfully  her  promised  tryst.' 

"  At  which  the  husband  lifted  the  stone  mug, 
poured  the  mead,  and,  gravely,  on  one  knee,  offered 
it  to  the  great  woman  who  was  his  wife.  But  though 
his  heart  was  very  tender  to  her,  the  creeping  chill 
was  in  his  blood  still  as  she  leaned  across  the  table, 
and  with  ineffable  gentleness  said:  'To  you,  poor 
heart,  I  drink  and  bring  to  you  success! ' 

"  And  he  was  truly  a  grateful  man,  when  she  in 
her  turn  filled  the  mug,  and  holding  it  to  his  lips, 
smilingly  commanded  him  to  drink,  '  To  the  con- 
tinued success  of  the  favourite,  Sarah  Siddons,  and 
your  loving  wife,  sir.' 

*'  And  then,"  said  my  very  old  informant,  "  my 
father  wiped  his  eyes  with  an  enormous  red  silk  hand- 
kerchief, and  said,  'A  prodigious  creature,  my  child — 
prodigious !  And  you  can  see  she  was  a  brave  woman, 
too,  for  it  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  do,  to  refuse  an 
invitation  from  nobility  at  a  time  when  actors  were 
a  little  lower  than  the  beggars !  '  Yes,  prodigious  is 
the  word,  for  the  gentle  and  strong,  the  beautiful 
and  great — old  England's  idol — Sarah  Siddons." 


VII 
GARFIELD 

DURING  one  of  my  many  visits  to  Washing- 
ton, an  odd  little  incident  occurred  anent 
the  late  James  A.  Garfield.  As  a  frequent 
guest  of  the  hospitable  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Donn 
Piatt,  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  many  wise 
men  from  the  North,  South,  East  and  West,  and 
fair  women,  too,  from  as  many  quarters;  and  as 
Colonel  Piatt  was  an  Ohio  man,  it  seemed  perfectly 
natural  that  he  should  find  a  boon  companion  and 
close  friend  in  that  other  Ohioan,  the  big,  gentle 
Garfield — whom  I  came  to  know,  regard  and  heartily 
admire. 

But  to  make  my  story  intelligible,  I  shall  have  to 
go  back  a  good  many  years,  to  a  time  when  my 
mother  had  accepted  a  situation  In  the  country  as 
housekeeper  for  an  old,  old  man  and  his  middle- 
aged  son.  The  big  old  lonely  house  standing  in  a 
grove  of  locust  trees  had  been  visited  again  and 
again  by  Death,  until  at  last,  only  these  two  men 
grimly  faced  each  other  in  the  bitter  silence  of 
hatred.  For  yoked  together  as  they  were  by  blood 
and  circumstances,  the  older  man  had  ever  been  cruel 
and  unjust,  a  wicked  man  within  the  law,  and  It  is 
quite  astonishing  how  wicked  one  can  be  without 
actually  breaking  the  law,  if  one  is  possessed  of  a 
devil  and  Is  cunningly  malicious.   So  this  eighty-five- 

103 


I04  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

year-old  "  cruelty  "  sat  at  one  side  of  the  enormous 
fireplace  and  chuckled  viciously  and  audibly  over 
the  torment  of  the  forty-year-old  son — a  new-made 
widower,  who  hid  his  sorrow  and  sat  In  sullen  pa- 
tience at  the  other  side  of  the  hearth  keeping  a  watch- 
ful eye  upon  the  hound  that  crouched  at  his  side, 
lest  bodily  hu-rt  come  to  It  from  the  enemy  opposite. 

Into  the  great,  echoing  old  house  my  mother  and 
I  came.  There  was  no  building  save  the  barn  in  sight. 
The  school  was  closed,  so,  but  for  the  hound,  Judy, 
a  stiff  old  shepherd  dog,  Roy,  and  my  own  few  books, 
I  should  almost  have  gone  melancholy  mad. 

Uncle  Harry,  as  the  younger  Mr.  Freeman  was 
generally  called,  one  day  loaned  me  a  book.  I  was 
delighted  beyond  words,  and  even  when  I  went  out- 
doors, for  a  week  I  carried  the  book  with  me.  The 
sap  was  running  In  the  maple  trees,  snow-covered  but 
thinly  the  ground  and  patched  the  great  grey 
boulders.  The  joy  of  the  sugar-camp  was  at  hand. 
I  had  moulded  maple  sugar  In  teacups,  in  little  patty 
pans,  in  egg  shells,  in  everything  I  could  think  of.  I 
had  one  bright  morning  two  fingers  bandaged  on 
one  hand  and  a  thumb  on  the  other,  because  of  sugar 
burns,  while  a  bright  new  patch  on  my  old  frock  told 
of  yet  another  bum,  and  the  wrath  of  my  mother 
having  been  turned  against  me  on  account  of  these 
accumulated  mishaps,  I  had  been  forbidden  the 
pleasure  of  the  camp.  Therefore  I  had  taken  my 
book  and  a  large  cake  of  maple  sugar,  and  calling 
upon  Judy  the  elastic,  and  Roy  the  stiff,  to  follow,  I 
had  gone  forth  to  kill  time  as  best  I  could. 


GARFIELD  105 

After  a  wild  race  that  ended  with  the  hound  far 
ahead,  me  in  second  place  and  Roy  well  behind  the 
field,  I  conversed  with  them  on  various  topics,  they 
nearly  wearing  their  tails  out  in  excited  approval  of 
my  ideas.  Then  noticing  the  extreme  whiteness  of 
Judy's  teeth,  which  she  almost  wholly  exposed  in  her 
doggish  smile,  I  remarked:  "You  should  have  been 
called  Sweetlips  instead  of  Judy,  and  Roy,  if  you  had 
not  been  too  old  I  bet  you  a  penny.  Uncle  Harry 
would  have  called  you  Garfield — for  that's  the  name 
of  the  man  he's  always  talking  about,  whenever  any- 
body comes  here.  It's  just  Garfield — canal,  and  Gar- 
field— man,  and  Garfield — speech,  and  Garfield — oh, 
you  beast!"  for  Roy  had  thrust  his  nose  into  my 
apron  pocket  and  grabbed  the  cake  of  sugar.  But  his 
stiff  old  legs  gave  out  quickly.  I  rescued  the  sugar 
and  with  the  calm  indifference  of  childhood  wiped  it 
off  with  my  apron  and  returned  it  to  my  pocket.  But 
when  Judy  began  to  nose  it  violently  I  felt  that  dis- 
cretion was  the  better  part  of  valour,  and  looking 
about  vainly  for  another  place  of  safety,  I  held  my 
book  under  my  chin,  while  I  climbed  up  to  the  top  of 
a  high  rail  fence.  There  I  turned  laboriously,  tucked 
my  red  calico  dress  under  me  to  mitigate  the  severity 
of  that  top  rail  and  seated  myself,  straightened  my 
hood,  opened  my  book,  and  with  a  dog  on  hind  legs 
on  each  side  of  me,  I  fairly  shared  the  sugar  with 
them  while  between  bites  I  read  a  harrowing  story  of 
slavery.  I  had  been  there  some  time,  for  the  cake  of 
sugar  had  become  a  mere  crumbly  bit,  so  hard  to 
divide  into  three  portions  that  I  yielded  to  the  urgent 


io6  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

pleading  of  a  pair  of  dim  brown  eyes  on  one  side  of 
iiic  and  a  pair  of  brilliant  topaz  ones  on  the  other, 
and  broke  the  fragment  In  two  pieces  and  as  they 
were  crunched  to  powder  by  sharp  white  teeth,  from 
up  the  rough  and  rutty  road,  there  came  the  loudly 
cried:  "Gee — gee  haw  1  "  that  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  an   ox-team. 

Instantly  six  interested  eyes,  blue,  brown  and  yel- 
low, turned  in  that  direction,  for  under  some  circum- 
stances even  a  passing  load  of  wood  is  worthy  of 
attention. 

Presently  there  turned  into  the  road  from  a  cross 
lane  a  pair  of  red  and  white  oxen,  swaying  patiently 
beneath  their  heavy  yoke,  whose  guide,  tall  and 
broad,  did  a  great  deal  of  shouting,  but  almost  no 
goading,  for  which  I  liked  the  man  whose  face  I  had 
not  yet  seen.  Both  dogs  left  me  at  once  and  hastened 
to  inquire  Into  the  treatment  and  general  condition  of 
the  steers  and  to  look  under  the  waggon  to  see  If  there 
might  be  a  dog  there,  as  country  etiquette  required, 
and  finding  an  ancient  brindled  watchdog,  there  fol- 
lowed a  great  waving  of  tails  and  a  general  exchange 
of  salutations,  and  Judy  being  but  a  scatter-brained, 
flighty  young  thing  at  best,  spatted  her  hands  with 
lightning  quickness  before  him  and  invited  the  new- 
comer to  race  her,  but  he  only  pressed  closer  to  the 
off-steer,  looking  him  over  anxiously  and  pretending 
not  to  have  heard  her  embarrassing  invitation — the 
young  are  so  thoughtless  at  times.  Later  on,  he  and 
Roy,  who  was  his  contemporary,  found  a  dry  and 
sunny  spot  where  they  sat  down  and  talked  of  the 


GARFIELD  107 

wonderful  tenacity  of  rheumatism  when  it  settled  in 
a  dog's  shoulder. 

Meantime  the  man  approaching,  called  loudly: 
"Halloo!  halloo!"  toward  the  house.  No  answer 
coming,  he  halted  his  steers  and  stood  still,  looking 
doubtfully  over  toward  the  barn.  He  was  in  dress 
the  typical  countryman,  big  and  broad  shouldered, 
his  trousers  legs  tucked  into  his  boot-tops,  his  thick 
coat  fastened  close  about  his  middle  with  a  leather 
strap  never  meant  for  a  belt,  an  enormous  pair  of 
greyish  blue  mittens  on  his  hands,  a  comforter  of 
amazing  length  and  fighting-mad  colours  wound 
about  his  throat,  and  a  cap  with  ear  tabs  on  his  head, 
a  cap  whose  dark  brown  colour  accentuated  the  yel- 
lowish blondness  of  his  hair — all  that  was  country- 
man. But  in  the  big,  ruddy,  full-moon  face,  with  the 
wide,  eager,  blue  eyes,  the  bold,  well-formed  nose, 
the  kindly  smiling  lips,  all  seeming  to  radiate  vitality 
and  energy  there  was  no  country  stolidity — far  from 
it.  As  his  wandering  eye  returned  from  the  barn,  the 
dogs  clambering  back  to  me  again,  drew  his  attention 
to  vv^here,  like  a  red  woodpecker,  I  perched  on  the 
fence. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Say,  little  girl,  is  Freeman 
at  home?  " 

I  looked  at  him,  and  gravely  asked :  "  Which  one — 
Jedediah  or  Uncle  Harry?  " 

The  ruddy  face  quivered  for  a  moment,  then  the 
answer  came:  "  Uncle  Harry." 

I  shook  my  head  regretfully :  *'  He's  away — I  wish 
he    wasn't!"  Then    I    continued.   "Mr.    Jedediah 


io8  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Freeman's  home  " — with  a  sigh — "  I  wish  he 
wasn't." 

What  a  shout  of  laughter  came  from  the  stranger's 
great  throat.  The  wind  fluttered  over  the  leaves  of 
my  story  just  then  and  the  laugh  ended  abruptly,  the 
big  blue  eyes  sparlcled. 

"  I-is  that  a  book?  "  he  asked.  "  Are  you  reading 
it?" 

"  Of  course,  I  am,"  I  replied  with  offended  dignity. 

*'Oh!  "  he  exclaimed.  "What  is  it  about,  eh?  is 
it  good?" 

"  Well,"  I  replied  with  a  critical  twist  of  my 
hooded  head,  "  n-no — it's  not  so  very  good."  Then 
hurriedly.  "  Of  course,  all  books  are  some  good. 
This  is  called  "  Dred,  or  the  Dismal  Swamp,"  and 
it's  kind  of  shuddery,  you  know;  but  it's  not  like  my 
two  best  books." 

He  came  quite  close  to  me  and  asked  in  the  most 
interested  manner:  "  Which  are  they — your  two  best 
books.  Sissy?  " 

And  I  answered  swiftly:  "  Jane  Eyre  "  and  "  Rob- 
inson Crusoe." 

He  lifted  up  his  voice  again  in  hearty  laughter, 
while  he  smote  the  rail  a  blow  with  his  fist  that  set 
Judy  frantic  with  excitement,  and  then  he  cried: 

"Good!  Good  for  you,  little  girl!  I  back  your 
judgment  in  books.  But  who  are  you  anyway?  You 
can't  be  a  country  child?"  He  looked  toward  the 
house  and  then  suddenly  answered  his  own  question : 
"  Why,  I  guess  you  must  be  the  daughter  of  old 
Jedediah's  housekeeper — that's  who  you  are." 


GARFIELD  109 

*'  Well,"  I  returned  rather  testily,  "  I  can  guess 
too,  and  I  guess  you  are  my  Uncle  Harry's  Mr.  Gar- 
field— that  is  if  you  ever  make  speeches." 

He  caught  my  face  between  his  big  mittened  hands 
and  laughed  as  he  rocked  me  so  from  side  to  side :  "  I 
tell  you  what,  little  one,  if  I  had  a  faster  team  here, 
I  think  I'd  run  you  off." 

"Where  to?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh !  "  he  answered,  "  to  some  place  chock  full  of 
books.  Would  you  go?  " 

And  being  a  miniature  woman,  I  shook  my  head 
violently,  while  smiling  a  distinct  consent. 

He  glanced  up  at  the  farmer's  clock — the  sun, 
caught  up  his  goad  and  started  up  his  oxen.  The 
brindle  broke  off  his  conversation  with  Roy  to  make 
a  swift  investigation  of  the  soles  of  my  shoes  and  the 
condition  of  our  barn-yard  gate  before  hastening  to 
take  his  proper  position  under  his  waggon.  Then  I 
demurely  remarked:  "You  didn't  want  me  to  tell 
Uncle  Harry  anything  then,  did  you?  " 

"  Good  Lord !  "  cried  the  driver.  "  I  clean  forgot ! 
Please  tell  Freeman  not  to  fail  Garfield  at  the  meet- 
ing to-morrow  night,  at  Aurora !  Remember,  little 
girl,  Aurora — not  at  the  schoolhouse,  that's  too 
small!  Aurora!  Good-bye!"  And  with  much  creak- 
ing and  rumbling  the  waggon  moved  in  response  to 
the  efforts  of  the  red  and  white  steers,  who  swayed 
and  shambled  and  gee'd  and  haw'd  in  patient  obedi- 
ence to  the  big,  kind  voice  that  directed  them.  Once 
he  turned  and  looking  back  saw  me  standing  on  the 
fence  ready  to  jump,  while  the  dogs  wildly  leaping  up 


I  lo  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

In  front  of  me  made  the  jump  impossible.  And  so  with 
a  last  Homeric  burst  of  laughter,  the  young  Gar- 
field of  the  farmer  period  passed  out  of  my  life,  to 
enter  it  again  years  later,  through  the  doors  of  a 
Washington  drawing-room. 

The  country  being  very  interesting  and  the  roads 
fine  about  the  city  I  had  had  my  saddle-horse  sent  on 
from  New  York  and  with  my  host  and  some  of  his 
friends  I  enjoyed  many  delightful  and  some  rather 
exciting  rides — especially  that  wild  rush  to  escape 
arrest  at  the  hands  of  the  police,  I,  as  a  stranger, 
having  tangled  my  horse  all  up  in  the  red  tape  so 
plentiful  at  that  time  in  the  park  at  the  Soldiers' 
Home.  Mr.  Henry  Watterson  suggested  that  we  run 
for  it.  We  did,  and  the  policeman  proved  he  was 
better  mounted  than  we  had  believed.  We  escaped, 
but  at  the  same  time  we  had  a  race  well  worth  re- 
membering. One  day  as  Colonel  Piatt  was  about  to 
lift  me  from  my  horse,  he  noticed  a  gentleman  was 
leaving  his  door,  and  called  out  as  his  face  lit  up  with 
pleasure:  "  Oh,  I  say,  old  fellow,  go  back!  go  back! 
We'll  be  there  in  one  second!   I  want  to  see  you!  " 

And  as  I  slipped  from  the  saddle,  he  added  to  me : 
"  There's  the  man  I  particularly  wish  you  to  know," 
Then  in  the  hall:  "  Oh,  don't  go  to  your  room,  no 
one  minds  a  little  dust  and  a  few  flecks  of  foam!  " 
and  there  in  the  drawing-room  doorway  appeared 
stalwart,  well-groomed,  well-dressed  a  personified 
geniality;  and  a  jesting  voice  was  presenting  the  Hon. 
James  A.  Garfield. 

I  drew  the  bridle-worn  gauntlet  from  the  hand  I 


GARFIELD  1 1 1 

offered  him  and  as  he  raised  his  head  from  a  courtly- 
salutation  his  big  blue  eyes  looked  fairly  into  mine 
and  the  words  he  was  pronouncing  trailed  away  into 
silence.  He  looked  fixedly  at  me;  a  worried,  puzzled 
expression  growing  on  his  face.  Then  with  a  start  and 
an  embarrassed  stammer,  he  completed  his  greeting. 

After  a  little  I  withdrew  to  dress  for  dinner,  and 
I  was  scarcely  out  of  the  room,  before  he  called  out: 
"  Where  have  I  seen  that  little  woman  before — will 
someone  tell  me  that?  " 

Mrs.  Piatt  said;  "On  the  stage  of  course." 

"No — no!"  he  objected.  "That's  not  it.  When 
I  looked  into  her  eyes  just  now,  I  knew  I  had  looked 
into  them  before,  yet  I  couldn't  quite  catch  the  mem- 
ory where  or  when.  Oh,  laugh — but  I  tell  you  I'll 
trace  that  memory  out  yet — you  see  if  I  don't." 

As  time  went  by  and  I  came  to  know  something  of 
him,  it  goes  without  saying  that  I  liked  him.  One 
of  General  Garfield's  most  attractive  traits  was  his 
enthusiasm.  Whatever  he  did,  was  it  work  or  play, 
he  did  with  all  his  heart,  the  big  warm  heart  that 
held  so  many,  yet  scamped  no  one  of  their  share  of 
love.  He  was  so  proud  of  his  wife — that's  always  a 
good  sign  in  a  man.  He  gave  me  the  pleasure  of  her 
acquaintance  and  I  found  her  a  woman  of  most  wide 
reading  and  deep  thinking;  well  informed,  clever,  but 
apparently  a  human  sensitive  plant.  In  the  bosom  of 
her  family  she  was  brilliant,  but  at  the  faintest  touch, 
even  the  touch  of  the  world,  she  shrank  into  silence 
and  an  absolute  timidity  of  manner.  Yet  she  was  to 
her  big  husband  guide,  philosopher  and  friend.  His 


112  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

literary  idols  were  Dickens  and  Shakespeare.  H'e 
quoted  from  them  almost  continually  and  I  stood  even 
with  him  in  knowledge  of  Dickens,  but  he  was  head 
and  shoulders  above  me  in  Shakespeare — for  my 
slight  study  of  him  had  been  confined  to  the  acted 
plays,  but  Mr.  Garfield  knew  him  from  cover  to 
cover.  There  was  no  pose  about  it,  he  had  studied 
Shakespeare  because  he  loved  him,  and  loved  him  be- 
cause he  had  so  long  studied  him.  Our  arguments 
over  Lady  Macbeth' s  character  were  many  and  warm, 
and  whenever  I  won  a  momentary  advantage,  he  had 
a  funny  way  of  bending  down  his  big  brainy  head 
and  violently  shaking  it,  exactly  after  the  manner  of 
a  great  St.  Bernard,  shaking  its  head  free  from  a  too 
annoying  fly.  But  whenever  or  wherever  I  met  him 
he  was  tormented  by  that  conviction  of  having  seen 
me  before. 

"  Confound  it,  I  even  feel  an  impulse  to  call  her 
by  her  first  name!  "  he  said  impatiently  to  Colonel 
Piatt.  Again  he  remarked:  "If  we  have  ever  lived 
in  some  other  world — why  I  must  have  seen  her 
there." 

At  last  it  became  evident  that  his  tantalising  im- 
pression of  some  former  meeting  was  always  strong- 
est when  we  were  out  of  doors.  At  such  times  his  al- 
most boyish  laugh  would  cease;  his  clever  banter  fal- 
ter into  silence,  while  his  blue  eyes  would  take  on  a 
look  so  tense  and  sometimes  so  troubled,  that  often  I 
was  tempted  to  give  him  the  clue  he  was  searching 
for;  but  a  mischievous  desire  to  see  if  he  would  ever 
find  It  for  himself  kept  me  silent.  He  spoke  of  his  odd 


GARFIELD  113 

impression  to  some  of  his  friends,  asking  if  they  had 
ever  had  a  like  experience;  and  it  often  happened 
that  as  he  left  the  theatre  after  a  performance  some- 
one would  hail  him  with  the  laughing  question: 
"Well,  have  you  caught  up  with  her  yet?"  or, 
"  Have  you  secured  the  date  of  that  first  meeting?  " 

Then  there  came  an  evening  when  at  a  dinner  given 
by  Mrs.  Piatt,  I  found  myself  sitting  exactly  oppo- 
site Mr.  Garfield.  The  company  was  not  a  large  one 
but  it  boasted  some  famous  names  and  at  least  one 
brilliant  beauty.  Carefully  chosen,  the  guests  seemed 
charmed  with  one  another ;  coldness  and  restraint  were 
notable  by  their  absence;  conversation  was  brilliant 
and  laughter  was  light,  when  turning  my  glance  a 
moment  from  the  Southern  senator  at  my  side,  I 
looked  full  into  the  fixed,  wide  blue  eyes  of  Mr.  Gar- 
field. He  was  leaning  forward,  one  hand  tightly 
clenched  lay  on  the  table.  From  the  strained  faraway 
look  he  turned  upon  me,  I  knew  in  a  moment  he 
was  again  searching  for  that  memory,  and  as  I  gazed 
into  his  unwinking  eyes,  the  buzz  of  talk  and  laughter 
turned  into  a  murmur  of  wind  through  leafless  trees. 
I  saw  pale  winter  sunshine  falling  across  some  snow- 
patched  fields.  Leaning  a  little  toward  him,  in  a  very 
low  but  distinct  tone  I  said:  "Gee — gee  haw!  "  A 
flash  like  blue  lightning  snapped  into  his  eyes  and  as 
I  added,  "  Is  Freeman  at  home?  "  he  gave  a  cry,  al- 
most a  shout  and  striking  a  blow  upon  the  table  that 
set  the  glasses  and  small  silver  all  a-dancing,  he  cried: 

"I've  found  you!  I've  found  you  at  last,  and 
you're  sitting  on  top  of  the  fence  in  a  red  calico  dress 


114  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

with  a  book  in  your  lap  I  "  Then  in  the  midst  of  the 
commotion  he  had  raised,  he  threw  his  arm  about 
Colonel  Piatt  crying:  "  Ah,  you  thought  I  was  meat 
for  an  asylum — you  know  you  did !  But  I  have  found 
her  out  at  last — so  you  see  I'm  not  half  as  crazy  as 
you  thought  I  was !  " 

Questions  rained  upon  him  and  much  laughter  fol- 
lowed his  story  of  that  faraway  meeting  on  the 
country  road,  but  one  grave  old  gentleman  (Judge 
Holt)  questioned  us  earnestly  in  the  drawing-room  as 
to  what  was  in  both  our  minds  at  the  moment  in  which 
I  spoke.  I  was  not  much  surprised  to  hear  Mr.  Gar- 
field say,  that  in  his  backward  search  for  a  clue  to  the 
tormenting  half  memory,  he  had  got  as  far  as  Cleve- 
land and  failing  to  find  me  there  was  hopelessly  try- 
ing Aurora,  and  the  country  around  there,  when  I 
spoke. 


VIII 
THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE 

WE  were  playng  our  way  westward  to  Cali- 
fornia. The  next  week  we  were  due  at 
Salt  Lake  City,  a  favourite  halting  place 
of  mine.  Now  we  were  in  a  small  town  in  that  State 
of  many  marvels — Colorado.  The  men  were  mostly 
at  work  in  a  mine  or  mines  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  town  itself,  so  its  streets  had  a  very  quiet  air 
during  the  business  hours  of  the  day.  Everything 
about  the  place  seemed  to  have  the  quality  of  crystal 
purity.  The  air — the  wondrous  sky — the  sparkling 
water;  while  the  mountains  took  strange  forms  and 
like  stupendous  beasts  couchant  against  the  distant 
blue,  seemed  ready  to  rise  at  some  dread  command 
and  descend  with  world-jarring  steps,  into  the  valley, 
to  destroy  the  pigmy  toilers  there.  And  in  that  dis- 
tant quiet  little  mountain-town  I  found  the  woman, 
who  said  to  me  with  trembling  lips :  "  You  see — I'm 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  Temple — so  cannot  be 
safe!" 

We,  my  husband  and  myself,  had  started  to  drive 
to  the  "  Garden  of  the  Gods."  The  carriage  came  to 
grief  before  we  Vvcre  outside  the  limits  of  the  town, 
and  we  got  down,  my  husband  and  the  driver  to  look 
for  aid,  while  I  walked  up  and  down,  past  a  row  of 
one-story  cottages,  occupied  by  miners  and  their  fam- 
ilies. Most  of  them  bore  all  the  dog-ears  of  wasteful 

115 


ii6  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

poverty — of  laziness  and  neglect.  Two  or  three  were 
fenced  about,  but  most  of  them  stood  in  a  wild  waste 
of  empt}'  tins  and  broken  yellow  crockery;  but  at 
sight  of  the  last  cottage  in  the  line  I  stopped,  stock- 
still;  it  made  me  think  of  some  sweet  gentlewoman 
holding  her  spotless  skirts  about  her  and  hesitating 
at  the  entrance  to  a  foul  alley — so  clean  and  well- 
curtained  its  windows  were ;  so  neat  its  scrap  of  yard. 
As  I  looked  I  saw  the  edge  of  a  curtain  gently,  gently 
drawn  aside,  and  knew  someone  was  peeping  at  me. 
All  down  the  line,  bare-armed,  frowsy-headed  women 
had  stood  openly  and  gazed,  this  person  was  more 
cautious.  As  I  returned  on  my  slow  march  up  and 
down,  to  pass  the  weary  waiting,  the  door  of  the 
pretty  house  opened  and  a  small  woman  in  a  black 
dress  and  a  checked  apron  stepped  out  and  opened 
her  gate,  and  as  I  came  abreast  of  it,  she  bowed  and 
asked  me  would  I  not  come  in  and  sit  down  as  I 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  someone;  and  "  Oh,  if  you 
please,"  she  finished,  "  are  you  not  from  the  East — I 
can't  be  mistaken,  you  are  an  Eastern  woman — aren't 
you?"  As  I  answered,  "Yes,"  I  saw  her  turn  her 
head  aside  and  wipe  quick  tears  from  her  eyes.  I 
entered  her  little  home  and  sat  down  In  wonderment. 
It  was  the  very  flower  of  cleanliness.  The  floor  was 
immaculate — one  strip  of  carpet  lay  before  the  bed — 
one  braided  rag  rug  lay  beneath  the  rocker.  There 
was  very  little  furniture — no  heavy  pieces  like  bureau 
or  wardrobe — everything  cheap;  but  in  one  window 
were  two  shelves  of  flowers,  that  fairly  laughed,  so 
lusty,  strong  and  bright  they  were — not  a  spindling 


i 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    117 

stem  not  a  yellow  leaf  among  them;  while  on  a  little 
table,  by  the  worn  old  Bible,  stood  her  evident  pride 
and  delight,  a  rose  bush,  whose  two  fat  buds  had  al- 
ready streaks  of  rich  red  on  their  sides,  showing  how 
hard  it  was  for  them  to  restrain  the  riotous  colour  and 
perfume  within. 

I  had  not  been  one  minute  in  the  room  when  I  saw 
my  hostess  was  a  woman  of  ruined  nerves.  At  the 
tiniest  sound  her  blue  eyes  would  widen  suddenly, 
painfully — she  would  glance  swiftly  over  her 
shoulder;  then  she  would  smile  deprecatingly.  She 
kept  the  white  curtains  nearly  closed  and  she  never 
passed  the  window  without  a  second's  pause  to  glance 
anxiously  into  the  empty,  quiet  street.  I  had  given 
her  my  name  and  had  learned  her  own  was  Mrs. 
Mary  Wilton.  As  we  talked  I  had  taken  off  my 
glove.  On  that  hand  I  had  a  foolish  little  ring  a  girl 
friend  had  lately  given  me;  a  plain  band  of  gold,  al- 
most covered  with  a  dark  blue  enamel  that  in  some 
lights  looked  black.  Her  eye  fell  upon  it,  and  taking 
it  for  black,  she  bitterly  exclaimed :  "  That's  the 
thing  we  ought  to  have  for  our  wedding  rings !  " 

'"  We?  '  Who?  "  I  asked,  and  she  rephed:  "  Oh, 
we  Mormons !  " 

I  started  violently:  "  Why,  Mrs.  Wilton,"  I  cried, 
"  are  you  a  Mormon?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  a  Mormon's  widow — I  suppose  it's  as 
broad  as  it's  long!  " 

"  And,"  asked  I,  "  do  the  people  here  know  you 
are  a  Mormon?  " 

She  shut  her  hands  spasmodically — she  passed  her 


ii8  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

tongue  ov^cr  her  pale  lips:  "  I  hope  not,"  she  whis- 
pered, "Oh,  I  hope  to  God,  they  don't!  What's 
that?  "  she  held  up  her  finger  warningly.  I  had  heard 
nothing,  but  she  had.  Her  eyes  were  wide  and 
frightened.  She  crept  cat-like  to  the  window,  glanced 
out,  then  turned  a  face  like  death  to  me  and  drew 
softly  away  into  a  corner.  I  rose  and  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  out  openly,  while  from  behind 
me  came  her  whisper:  "  What  do  you  see?  " 

"  Only  three  men,"  I  answered.  "  They  look  like 
cattlemen." 

She  groaned:  "There  are  no  cattlemen  here — so 
they  are  strangers !  Would  you  know  any  one  of  them 
again?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  for  one  is  very  tall  and  has  red 
hair  and  to  me  his  beard  looks  uncommonly  like  a 
false  one !  " 

I  had  not  thought  my  words  would  do  more  than 
provoke  a  smile;  but  instead  they  seemed  to  throw 
her  into  a  very  anguish  of  terror. 

"  It  is  the  end!  "  she  gasped.  "  It  is  the  end — I 
have  felt  it  for  days !  Now  I  am  sure,  sure!  Are 
they  looking  this  way — do  they  notice  this  house?" 

I  glanced  at  her  ashen  face  and  at  the  throbbing  in 
her  throat,  and  slowly  and  pityingly,  I  told  my  lie. 
"  No,  they  are  just  talking  among  themselves,  and 
wandering  along,  as  I  was  wandering,  when  you  took 
me  in." 

Now,  in  point  of  fact  they  were  to  all  seeming  an 
evil  group  and  they  had  looked  long  and  carefully 
at  the  house,  until  I  had  drawn  the  curtains  wide  and 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    119 

looked  back  at  them — then  they  turned  away  and 
moved  down  the  hill.  The  woman  took  a  corner  of  her 
apron  and  wiped  her  wet  palms  and  beaded  forehead. 
I  stood  before  her  in  wonder.  "  Mrs.  Wilton,"  I 
asked  "  what  is  it  that  frightens  you  so?  " 

She  looked  up  at  me :  "  Do  you  know  Salt  Lake?  " 

*'  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,"  she  continued,  casting  that  nervous  glance 
behind  her  as  she  spoke,  "  I  am  standing  in  the 
shadow  of  Its  Temple,  and  I  shall  never  be  safe — 
until  I'm  In  my  grave !  " 

My  face  betrayed  my  thought:  "No,"  she  an- 
swered, "I'm  not  Insane;  but  the  Mormon  arm  is 
long — the  Mormon  punishment  is  certain !  "  She 
shivered  In  the  sunlight,  and  added  low:  "And  the 
mark  was  set  against  my  name  four  years  ago !  " 

"  My  poor  woman,"  I  said,  "  your  nerves  are 
completely  shattered,  or  you  would  know  all  this  is 
folly!" 

She  looked  up  gently,  patiently  at  me  and  asked: 
"Do  you  know  the  Book  of  Mormon?  Have  you 
studied  the  Holy  Doctrine  of  Plural  and  of  Celestial 
Marriages?  No!  Nor  do  you  know  the  secrets  of  the 
Endowment  House,  nor  the  terrors  of  the  Danite 
Vow!" 

I  broke  in  upon  her,  saying:  "  I  know  there  are  no 
Danites  now,  nor  any  other  body  of  men  who  would 
dare  close  their  ceremonies  by  standing  up  and 
publicly  swearing  that '  If  any  man  attempted  to  leave 
the  country,  or  pack  his  things  for  that  purpose,  any 
of  the  Covenanters  seeing  it  should  kill  him,  and  haul 


I20  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

him  aside  into  the  brush — so  his  burial  should  be  in 
a  turkey  buzzard's  gizzard!'" 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  quoting  the  very 
words !  " 

"  Yes,  I  had  them  from  a  near  friend,  who  with- 
drew from  the  Mormon  Church  because  of  enforced 
polygamy!  " 

She  leaned  forward  eagerly:  "  How  did  he  do  it? 
Where  did  he  go?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  got  slow  consent  to  his  making  a  trip,  on  im- 
portant business." 

"  Ah,"  she  cried  proudly,  "  the  East — there's 
safety !  That  was  a  wise  man,  that  friend  of  yours.  I 
wish  to  Heaven,  I  was  there  !  I  should  be  safe,  too  !  " 

*'  But,"  I  insisted,  "  that  is  all  past,  there  are  no 
Danites  now,  I  tell  you !  There  are  no  murderous 
executions  of  people  who  withdraw  from  the  faith !  " 

She  smiled  a  faint,  pale  smile  and  in  the  conciliat- 
ing tone  one  uses  to  a  fractious  child,  she  answered: 
"  No.  No.  There  are  no  Danites  now — no  public, 
hideous  vows — no  killing  in  broad  day;  but  the 
Danites  left  sons  and  sons'  sons,  and  a  principle  that 
lives  and  acts  in  secrecy  is  strong  and  terrible !  No, 
there  are  no  punishments  by  murder  now,  but,"  she 
laughed  a  dry,  mirthless  laugh  and  glanced  hurriedly 
over  her  shoulder,  "  but  it's  astonishing  what  strange 
accidents  befall  the  people  who  leave  the  Mormon 
Church!  "  I  heard  a  clatter  of  hoofs  outside — the 
mended  carriage  rattled  up  to  the  gate. 

We  had  just  agreed,  that  for  a  certain  sum,  Mrs. 
Wilton  should  "  do  up  "  two  or  three  delicate  lace- 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    121 

trimmed  articles  used  on  the  stage,  when  we  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  fright  the  men  had  given  her — now 
I  returned  to  the  subject.  But  she  shook  her  head — 
she  was  willing  to  go  to  my  private-car — in  which  we 
were  living  that  week — for  the  articles,  but  since  she 
had  seen  the  strangers  she  was  afraid  to  go  through 
the  streets  alone  after  dark — and  it  would  be  night- 
fall when  she  would  have  returned  the  things  to  me. 
I  promised  her  the  protection  home  of  the  porter — a 
stalwart  yellow  man — if  she  would  come,  and  she 
agreeing,  I  drove  away  from  the  little  cage  and  its 
fluttering  inmate. 

As  we  rattled  down  the  long  hill,  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  three  men,  they  were  at  the  foot  of  the  street. 
They  were  questioning  a  small  boy.  One  of  them 
pointed  at  Mrs.  Wilton's  cottage  as  he  spoke,  and  two 
looked  at  each  other  and  laughed.  My  heart  sank  like 
lead — my  palms  moistened  suddenly — I  had  caught 
Mrs..  Wilton's  disease — /  was  frightened  I 

It  must  be  confessed  that  I  gave  a  divided  atten- 
tion to  the  weird  and  marvellous  beauty  of  the  great 
Park,  well  named  "  The  Garden  of  the  Gods."  My 
thoughts  were  busy  more  than  half  the  time  with  that 
lonely  hard-working  woman,  back  there  in  the  town ; 
who  was  killing  herself  with  fear  of  imaginary  foes 
— though  to  her  they  were  real  enough,  poor  soul ! 
— and  I  wondered  if  she  would  keep  her  word  and 
come  to  the  car;  and  if  she  came,  I  wondered  if  she 
would  tell  me  anything  about  her  simple,  honest, 
kindly  self — for  I  felt  she  was  a  good  woman,  how- 
ever mistaken  she  might  be. 


122  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

I  was  glad  to  get  back  to  my  elongated,  movable 
home,  and  curled  myself  up  in  the  cushions  to  take  a 
needed  rest  before  the  light  dinner  that  preceded  the 
heavy  performance  of  the  evening — and  was  barely 
established  there,  when  the  porter  came  informing 
me  that  "  Mrs.  Wilton  was  there  with  the  lace  things 
and  did  I  care  to  receive  her?  "  "  Yes,"  I  answered. 
I  did  indeed  care  1 

She  entered  the  drawing-room,  I  saw  her  blue  eyes, 
for  the  moment  calm  and  clear,  a  flush  of  colour  on 
her  cheeks,  her  lips  red  and  parted  with  quick  breath- 
ing, from  her  hurried  walk  in  the  cold  air;  and  I 
realised  suddenly  what  a  very  pretty  woman  she  had 
been,  but  a  few  years  ago. 

I  settled  the  little  business  matter  between  us,  and 
then  shut  out  the  waning  day;  had  lights  brought  also 
and  an  easy  chair  and  as  we  sat  in  that  close-curtained 
seclusion,  the  lamps  burning  warm  and  bright  above 
us,  a  tea-pot  cosey-covered  between  us, — it  came  about 
that  she  spoke  and  I  listened,  while  she  told  me  how 
for  seventeen  blessed  years  she  had  lived  in  her  native 
state,  Vermont,  and  then  she  said  her  father  had 
grown  dissatisfied  and  they  had  gone  West — a  terri- 
ble undertaking  in  those  days.  Misfortune  followed 
them  closely  from  the  first,  and  over  and  over  her 
mother  had  begged  that  they  stop  at  this  place  or 
that,  and  settle  down  and  make  a  home.  But,  no — the 
father  went  ever  further  on — growing  poorer  by  al- 
most daily  accidents  and  losses,  until  one  brilliant 
sunny  morning  he  met  the  great  loss,  and  Death 
called  a  halt,  for  the  wife  and  daughter  at  least,  while 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    123 

the  father  journeyed  on  alone  into  the  land  we  always 
imagine  dark  with  shadows.  For  ignoring  warnings 
and  advice  he  had  tried  to  ford  the  river  from  a  point 
of  his  own  choosing  and  had  paid  for  his  obstinacy 
with  his  life. 

The  people  they  had  fallen  in  with  were  kind,  but 
they  had  no  reason  to  travel  further  so  they  remained 
at  the  little  settlement  on  the  river,  where  the  mother, 
already  broken  in  spirit  by  removal  from  her  old 
home,  sank  under  the  shock  of  her  husband's  death, 
and  in  two  short  months  lay  beside  him  under  the 
shade  of  the  ragged,  unkempt  cottonwood  tree — and 
she,  the  daughter,  was  alone  in  the  world — so  alone, 
that  when  a  few  months  later  John  Walter  Purser 
asked  her  to  marry  him,  she  perhaps  accepted  him 
with  less  careful  consideration  and  thought  than  she 
might  have  given  the  subject  under  other  circum- 
stances. 

It  was  only  the  day  before  their  wedding  that  he 
lightly  remarked:  "  Oh,  Annie,  I  belong  to  the  Mor- 
mon Church,  you  know !  " 

Shocked — she  had  cried  out  that  she  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  Polygamy,  and  he  had  laughed 
and  said  she  could  have  no  less  to  do  with  it  than  he, 
since  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all ;  and 
he  assured  her  that  Plural  Marriages  were  a  reward 
for  the  High  and  Mighty  of  the  church,  not  for  poor 
devils  like  himself.  She  reminded  him  of  a  miserably 
poor  Mormon  family,  who  had  passed  through  the 
settlement  lately— a  family  consisting  of  a  man,  four 
wives  and  many  children,  and  he  had  answered:  "  If 


124  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

a  poor  man  was  fool  or  brute  enough  to  want  a  lot 
of  wives,  the  Church  could  not  very  well  forbid  to 
one  what  It  offered  to  another — but  what  he  meant 
was,  that  there  was  no  compulsion  about  the  Plural 
Marriages — it  was  purely  an  Individual  matter  to  be 
settled  by  Individual  judgment,  taste  or  conscience. 
It  was  not  a  law  of  the  Church,  to  be  enforced,  or  he 
would  not  be  a  Mormon !  " 

He  little  dreamed  what  the  exact  wording  of  the 
Holy  Doctrine  of  Plural  Marriages  was.  He  was  but 
a  careless  and  recent  convert — a  restless,  impulsive 
man,  who  did  things  without  stopping  to  think  of 
possible  consequences.  And  he  often  paid  dear  for 
his  carelessness.  Still  he  really  believed  he  was 
making  a  correct  statement  about  the  doctrine  of 
Polygamy.  He  loved  her,  too,  and  his  vows  were 
sweet  In  her  ears — when  he  swore  by  the  dead  and 
the  living  and  by  the  God  of  both,  that  he  would 
have  no  other  wife  but  her,  so  long  as  she  lived,  and 
so  they  were  married  and  went  on  to  the  distant  City 
of  the  Saints,  and  settled  down  and  built  a  fair  house, 
and  as  for  two  years  she  had  led  a  rough  and  home- 
less life,  she  was  proud  and  happy,  when  all  being 
settled  to  her  satisfaction  she  stood  In  her  new  home 
and  with  her  husband's  arms  about  her  rejoiced  over 
Its  peace  and  security.  "  Yes,  those  had  been  her  very 
words — peace  and  security." 

As  she  broke  Into  laughter  there,  I  asked  her 
why  she  laughed? 

She  answered  that  she  could  not  help  it;  that  when- 
ever she  recalled  that  moment  of  her  life,  it  suggested 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    125 

the  idea  of  two  children,  who  had  first  entered  a 
tiger's  cage  and  then  inquired  of  those  outside  the 
bars,  whether  or  not  the  fierce  animal  was  dangerous 
to  visitors,  and  after  a  bit  she  added :  ''  She  had  found 
the  tiger  very  dangerous  indeed!  " 

Her  baby  had  come  to  her  then  and  her  husband 
had  been  devoted  to  it.  Some  Mormon  women  had 
visited  her  and  reproached  her  for  not  urging  Plural 
Marriage  upon  her  husband  for  the  sake  of  his  future 
glory  in  Heaven — if  for  no  other  reason !  Would  she 
be  content  to  have  him  a  mere  serving  angel — as  he 
would  be  if  he  had  but  one  wife !  The  more  wives  he 
trailed  after  him  in  Heaven,  the  higher  his  place  and 
powers.  One  gentle  creature  used  always  to  plead 
for  some  woman's  chance  of  immortality,  telling  her 
that  females  were  without  souls  of  their  own  and 
could  only  enter  Heaven  through  their  relationship 
to  man,  and  in  keeping  her  husband  thus  selfishly  to 
herself  she  might  be  cruelly  depriving  some  sister 
woman  of  life  hereafter. 

She  had  always  been  kind  and  friendly  with  them, 
but  argued  as  little  as  possible — yet  in  a  short  time 
complaints  were  made  about  her.  Her  husband  was 
advised  by  one  of  the  Saints  that  she  should  be  dis- 
ciplined; they  declared  she  was  a  firebrand!  "  What 
had  she  done?"  "Why  she  had  created  dissatisfac- 
tion among  the  women,  and  what  was  she  anyway, 
that  she  should  live  in  a  manner  different  from  other 
Mormon  wives?  " 

Hoping  to  make  things  easier  for  her  husband,  she 
had  gone  with  him  on  Sunday  to  the  Tabernacle,  and 


126  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

had  sut  with  other  helpless  women  and  had  been 
directly  addressed  in  language  of  almost  incredible 
vulgarity  and  brutality.  The  shameful  epithets  being 
applied  not  only  by  the  elders  but  by  the  apostles, 
while  the  worst  offender  of  them  all  was  the  very 
Prophet  himself.  Ah,  she  cried,  all  the  world  has 
shrunk  from  his  habit  of  referring  to  the  women  as 
cattle — cows,  heifers  and  calves !  but  they  were 
terms  of  decency,  even  of  polished  refinement  com- 
pared to  those  Prophet  Brigham  Young  used,  when 
he  made  women  the  butt  of  his  brutal  buffoonery,  and 
clumsy  satire,  before  laying  upon  them  his  savage 
commands!  And  she  had  sat  with  burning  face  and 
downcast  eyes,  and  seeing  the  trembling  of  her  hus- 
band's clenched  hands,  had  been  comforted — because 
she  knew  he  was  shaken  with  anger  at  the  insult  put 
upon  her  womanhood.  More  and  more  often  certain 
of  the  elders  of  the  church  had  sought  him  out  after 
the  fourth  year  had  passed  in  Salt  Lake  City.  They 
came  to  his  house  after  business  hours — they  com- 
mented upon  his  success — they  estimated  his  probable 
house  expenses,  and  she  had  laughed  at  them  as  busy- 
bodies  when  they  were  gone,  and  could  not  under- 
stand John  Purser's  growing  agony  of  mind. 

Then  one  day  he  had  come  to  her  very  white-faced, 
and  told  her  he  had  been  deceived  about  the  "  Holy 
Doctrine,"  and  had  now  been  studying  it  and  from 
its  frothy  foolishness  of  expression — its  river  of  rep- 
etitions, two  cruel  facts  had  emerged — Polygamy 
was  a  binding  law  of  the  Church,  and  it  was  expressly 
stated  that  "  all  who  had  this  law  revealed  to  them. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    127 

must  obey  the  same!  That  If  one  failed  to  abide  by 
the  Covenant — then  was  he  damned !  "  Also  of  the 
woman,  whose  husband  had  taught  her  the  law  of 
the  priesthood  as  pertaining  to  these  things  (Plural 
and  Celestial  Marriages)  it  was  plainly  stated:  "  She 
shall  believe,  and  she  shall  administer  unto  him,  or 
she  shall  be  destroyed!  " 

That  last  was  a  word  of  awful  import  to  any 
Mormon — man  or  woman — and  for  the  first  time  she 
had  been  frightened — a  little  later  and  the  blow  her 
husband  had  been  dreading,  fell !  There  had  been  a 
visit  from  two  Elders  of  high  standing,  who  came  to 
say  great  honour  had  come  upon  him,  inasmuch  as  the 
Prophet  Young  had  received  a  revelation  directly  con- 
cerning the  physical  happiness  and  the  spiritual  power 
and  glory  of  John  Walter  Purser — in  short  he  was 
to  take  to  wife  one  Sarah  Hyde,  and  so  perform  his 
duty  to  the  Church.  And  he  had  pleaded,  reasoned, 
argued — all  in  vain.  When  he  had  spoken  of  her — 
his  wife — they  had  coldly  informed  him  that  he  was 
living  in  sin  with  her — as  the  Mormon  Church  recog- 
nised no  marriage  that  was  not  sanctioned  by  the 
Prophet.  Finally  they  had  withdrawn  smiling  evilly 
and  saying  they  would  give  him  a  short  time  in  which 
to  make  up  his  mind.  A  day  passed  and  surprisingly 
few  people  entered  John  Purser's  store.  On  the  sec- 
ond day  he  noticed  a  curious  red  mark  on  his  door,  and 
everyone  who  saw  it  turned  away  without  entering. 
The  third  day  not  a  single  human  being  entered  the 
shop  and  he  understood — the  ban  of  the  Church  was 
upon  him,  in  the  words  of  to-day  he  was  boycotted. 


128  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

In  terror  he  had  thought  of  flight  and  quietly  made 
some  inquiries  about  railroad  fares — when  the  agent 
to  whom  he  spoke  In  strict  confidence,  and  who  was 
his  friend,  begged  him  for  God's  sake  not  to  attempt 
to  leave  if  he  valued  either  his  wife's  life  or  his  own. 

"  You  ought  to  know  enough  by  this  time,"  he 
said,  "  of  the  power  and  the  vindictiveness  of  this 
party  of  men  who  run  the  Church.  The  body  of  the 
Mormon  people  are  simple.  Ignorant  and  honest,  but 
they  have  vowed  blind  obedience  to  the  Prophet,  and 
they  keep  their  vows.  With  the  mark  against  your 
name,  your  life  is  not  worth  a  rushlight  anywhere  in 
the  territory.  Go  home — throw  yourself  on  the  mercy 
of  your  wife  and  obey  the  Church — before  you  dis- 
appear as  mysteriously  as  did  the  Elder  who  refused 
to  give  his  fourteen-year-old  daughter  to  be  J.  D. 
Lee's  ninth  wife.  What  are  you  compared  to  an 
Elder?  Yet  he  Is  gone  and  Lee  has  the  daughter!  So 
what  chance  have  you?  A  Mormon  must  sacrifice 
everything  to  his  standing  In  the  Church!  " 

He  had  gone  home — the  husband  and  wife  had 
agonised  through  the  night — and  next  day  he  notified 
the  Prophet  that  he  would  be  at  the  Endowment 
House  to  accept  his  new  wife  at  any  time  he  chose 
to  appoint. 

The  woman  talking  to  me  grew  white  even  at  the 
recollection  of  that  awful  day  when  she  had  prepared 
her  house  for  the  reception  of  another  wife.  I  can- 
not repeat  the  humiliating  details — but  all  that  kept 
her  from  laying  violent  hands  upon  herself,  was  her 
child's  need  of  her. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE     129 

Usually,  the  first  wife  has  to  assist  at  all  the  mar- 
riages her  husband  makes — indeed  it  is  the  first  wife 
who  joins  the  hands  of  the  contracting  parties,  and 
gives  the  new  wife  to  her  husband;  but  she  had  been 
spared  that  awful  ordeal,  because  the  Church  denied 
her  marriage.  Bravely  she  prepared  the  evening  meal 
and  met  the  bride  of  her  own  husband  at  the  door  of 
her  own  little  home.  The  new  Mrs.  Purser  being 
Mormon  born  and  bred,  felt  no  embarrassment, 
which  was  well.  Bravely  Number  One  held  on  to  her 
self-control  through  that  dreadful  meal — a  self-con- 
trol nearly  destroyed  by  her  little  girl's  innocent 
inquiry:  "  Mama — is  that  strange  lady  going  to  stay 
with  us  until  to-morrow?"  That  night  she  had 
passed  on  her  knees  by  the  side  of  her  sleeping  child. 

In  the  weeks  and  months  of  agony,  of  shame,  of 
humiliation  that  followed,  she  looked  at  her  wedding 
ring  and  had  murmured,  "  after  all  I  am  his  wife  in 
the  eyes  of  God  I  I  alone — yes,  I  am  his  real  wife," 
and  that  thought  sustained  her. 

Sarah  Purser  had  many  relatives  and  they  often 
visited  her,  and  thus  a  new  torture  came  into  the  life 
of  Annie  Purser,  for  an  uncle  of  the  former — a  cer- 
tain powerful  elder  in  the  church — cast  a  favouring 
eye  upon  her,  and,  treating  her  as  an  unmarried 
woman,  drove  her  fairly  wild  with  his  attentions  and 
proposals.  Then  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  her  little  girl 
had  fallen  ill.  The  father  had  seemed  most  anxious, 
and  had  shared  the  night-watching  with  her,  and  even 
in  that  time  of  fear,  she  had  felt  how  sweet  it  was  to 
have  him  all  her  own  again  for  a  few  precious  hours. 


I30  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

But  the  young  Sarah  was  irked  by  the  sickness  and 
the  quiet.  She  demanded  that  "  her  husband  take  her 
to  a  party  at  her  uncle's." 

The  child  seemed  worse,  the  mother  pleaded: 
"  Don't  leave  me  John  to  face  this  crisis  alone !  "  and 
he  had  looked  into  her  terrified  eyes  and  promised  to 
watch  with  her — and  then  after  a  little  pouting  and 
a  few  angry  tears  from  Sarah,  she  had  heard  the  front 
door  close — heard  laughter  outside  and  knew  she  had 
been  left  to  keep  her  vigil  alone.  So  alone,  unaided, 
she  held  the  little  racked  and  plunging  form  in  its  con- 
vulsive struggles — alone,  she  straightened  the  small 
limbs  when  they  were  quiet  forever — and  as  she  knelt 
by  the  dead  child,  she  knew  that  something  else  had 
died  that  night  and  that  was  the  old  love  for  her 
husband ! 

A  certain  pitying  kindness  was  all  that  she  felt  for 
him  now;  and  even  before  the  body  of  their  child  had 
been  carried  to  the  grave  John  Purser  had  felt  the 
change  in  her  and  had  resented  it  passionately,  for, 
she  said,  smiling  sadly:  "  Men  are  made  that  way, 
you  know!  They  are  very  selfish  and  exacting!  " 

A  weary  soul-deadening  year  had  passed.  Sarah 
was  urging  her  husband  to  take  as  a  third  wife  her 
cousin — she  wanted  her  for  company  she  said,  and  he 
could  well  afford  to  support  another  wife,  and  almost 
daily  she  tried  to  get  him  to  put  away  the  first. 

And  then  it  was  he  was  stricken  down  with  a  fever, 
and  the  first  wife  it  was  who  nursed  and  watched  and 
waited,  and  hung  upon  the  doctor's  words — and 
blessed  God   that  she  had  not  been  driven  from  the 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    131 

house!  In  his  delirium  he  was  nearly  always  back  in 
the  past — the  blessed,  safe,  free  past!  Sometimes  in 
a  terrified  whisper  he  betrayed  secrets  of  the  church 
that  made  her  hair  almost  move  upon  her  brow;  and 
when  he  half  recognised  her,  he  would  whisper: 
"  Fly!  fly!  "  Once  he  told  her  where  to  find  a  little 
money,  and  made  her  sew  it  into  her  corset;  and  then 
the  end  had  come — he  died  and  was  buried;  and 
smiling  and  smug  the  detested  elder  had  offered  to 
"  seal  "  her  for  a  "  spiritual  wife."  She  had  rejected 
his  proposal.  Then  he  had  offered  to  marry  both  the 
widows,  by  proxy.  Her  horror  had  got  the  better  of 
her  discretion — she  had  spoken  plainly.  All  her 
hatred — her  shame — her  loathing — and — and — (the 
woman  shook  as  she  added)  he  had  spoken  then  so 
plainly  and  made  a  threat  so  awful,  she  had  nearly 
died  of  terror  as  she  listened.  The  Prophet  sanc- 
tioned his  marriage  to  her  and  since  she  refused  to 
obey  the  law — she  should  be  destroyed ! 

As  he  left  her,  he  had  looked  back  to  say:  "I 
reckon  you'll  be  at  the  Endowment  House  about  next 
Thursday.  The  mark  goes  against  your  name  to- 
day!" 

And  she  had  fled  that  very  night  and  had  by  the 
mercy  of  a  Gentile,  for  whom  she  had  done  some 
sewing,  been  allowed  to  enter  the  cars  as  one  of  her 
travelling  party.  The  money  her  husband  had  hidden 
away  for  her  had  not  lasted  long.  She  had  only  got 
this  far  toward  the  East.  She  kept  in  quiet  places — 
she  worked  hard  to  support  herself  and  save  a  little 
to  carry  her  further  toward  safety.   In  another  month 


132  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

she  would  have  enough  to  leave  this  place,  and  once 
in  the  East — she  stretched  out  her  arms  wide: 
*'  God!  "  she  exclaimed;  "  God!  "  and  drew  a  long, 
long  breath ! 

I  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  swallowing  down  the 
lump  in  my  throat,  then  I  asked:  "Have  you  ever 
been  disturbed  at  all — since  you  fled?  " 

"  Have  I  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Twice  I  have  been  forced 
to  leave  a  place,  just  as  I  stood!  Once  I  was  declared 
to  be  a  mad  woman,  escaped  from  an  insane  asylum ! 
I  jumped  from  a  second-story  window  that  time ! 
But  here  I've  been  undisturbed  and  almost  at  peace — 
until  to-day!  " 

She  rose  quickly  and  lifting  the  shade,  peered 
anxiously  into  the  darkness.  "  Those  men — those 
strangers!  Why  should  strangers  find  their  way  to 
that  out  of  the  way  place?  And  if  one  of  them  was 
disguised  why  that  was  proof  positive !  Then  she  had 
felt  ever  since  she  rose  yesterday  that  calamity  was 
hanging  over  her!  " 

I  laughed  and  said :  *'  I  am  your  calamity — I  was 
hanging  over  you!  " 

She  came  back  from  the  window  and  looked  down 
on  me  as  I  lay  in  the  cushions.  She  stroked  my  arm 
lightly,  she  spoke  gently,  almost  tenderly:  "  An  East- 
ern woman — a  woman  whose  husband  is  her  own — a 
woman  from  the  place  of  safety?  No,  you  are  no 
calamity!  "  A  queer  faraway  look  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  she  half  whispered:  "  You  are  my  witness!  " 

She  left  me — I  went  to  the  car  door  with  her.  I 
did  not  like  to  see  her  go;  I  felt  a  sudden  sinking  of 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    133 

the  heart.  We  stood  on  the  platform,  she  looked  up 
into  the  steady  brilliancy  of  the  stars. 

"  How  calm  and  sure  they  are,"  she  said.  "  Up 
there  one  would  be  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  Temple 
as  much  as  in  the  East,"  and  after  a  silent  grasp  of 
the  hand  and  a  steady  look  in  the  eye,  she  left  me — 
erect  and  quick-moving  at  the  side  of  the  porter  who 
loomed  up  above  her. 

I  was  but  two  days  further  on  my  way,  when  I  saw 
in  a  local  paper: 

"  Tragic  accident  at  S ,"  and  read  how  some 

men — strangers — "  who  had  been  noticed  by  several 
people  the  day  before,  had  wandered  into  a  quiet 
street  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  and  had  suddenly 
begun  to  quarrel  among  themselves — had  drawn  re- 
volvers and  fired  a  perfect  fusillade.  They  must  have 
been  very  much  intoxicated,  for  not  one  of  them  was 
hurt — but  the  sad  part  of  it  was,  a  stray  shot  had 
passed  through  a  window  and  instantly  killed  a  most 
estimable  woman — a  Mrs.  Wilton." 

I  dropped  the  paper — I  turned  sick  and  faint. 
After  a  bit  I  looked  at  it  again:  "  The  strangers  had 
disappeared  during  the  confusion — an  easy  matter  as 
the  men-folk  were  all  away  in  the  mines.  They  had 
got  out  of  town  on  a  freight  train  and  dropped  off 
before  the  train  reached  the  next  station.  While  it 
was  called  an  accident,  many  thought  a  crime  had 
been  committed."  So  it  was  with  tear-drenched  eyes 
I  entered  Salt  Lake. 

That   fair  city  of  the   Mountains — the   jewel  of 


134  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

great  Utah — all  girdled  round  with  the  living  green 
of  cultivated  trees,  and  veined  through  and  through 
with  swift-running,  sparkling  water.  Fair  almost  as 
the  Vision  City,  that  inspired  and  drew  on  that  army 
of  martyrs,  who  marched — staggered — even  crept 
on  hands  and  knees,  through  the  God-forgotten  des- 
ert into  the  fastness  of  the  Mountains,  following  in 
agony  the  path  taken  in  advance  (and  In  perfect  com- 
fort) by  the  Heads  of  the  Church,  and  when  the 
Prophet  and  his  apostles  came  out  to  meet  and  wel- 
come the  starved  remnant  of  that  devoted  army,  they 
thought  their  condition  so  laughable  that  they  turned 
and  rode  aside  to  hide  their  gales  of  merriment,  and 
with  coarse  oaths — swore  they  were  a  lot  of  moulting 
scarecrows !  But  the  half-crazed  scarecrows  on  their 
knees  saw  but  the  City  of  their  Dreams. 

Only  the  leaders  practised  polygamy  then.  The 
body  of  the  people  were  religious  enthusiasts,  who 
knew  nothing  yet  of  the  "  Holy  Doctrine,"  and  those 
who  lived  had  helped  to  build  this  goodly  City  of  the 
Saints. 

At  the  hotel,  I  stood  in  my  parlour  window  and 
looked  over  at  the  great  turtle-like  Tabernacle,  where 
women  had  sat  under  public  insult  Sunday  after  Sun- 
day. I  looked  at  the  Temple,  and  to  myself,  I  said: 
"  Your  mortar  has  been  mixed  with  tears — you  stand 
upon  a  foundation  of  broken  hearts — you  are  covered 
and  roofed  over  with  the  degradation  of  women;  but 
your  towers  and  spires  will  lift  their  Imprecations  Into 
the  very  face  of  Heaven !  "  And  as  the  tears  slipped 
down  my  cheeks,  I  seemed  to  hear  the  gentle,  fright- 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  TEMPLE    135 

ened  voice  of  Mrs.  Wilton,  saying:  *'  I  am  standing 
in  the  shadow  of  the  Temple  and  I  shall  never  be 
safe  until  T  am  in  my  grave!  " 

She  is  safe  now,  but  the  Temple  casts  a  very  black, 
shadow  still  1 


IX 
BRILLIANT   FAILURES 

HAVE  you  ever  been  present  as  a  witness  of 
a  brilliant  failure?  What  a  bitter-sweet  ex- 
perience it  is;  at  one  moment  you  feel  all 
the  pride  of  a  discoverer,  at  another  you  are  over- 
whelmed with  mortification  that  the  city's  best  are 
not  crowding  to  do  honour  to  this  artist's  work;  then 
you  are  contemptuous  of  the  critic's  chill  words  of 
praise,  and  wonder  bitterly  If  this  desolation  is  caused 
by  the  need  of  a  ubiquitous  press-agent  with  a  tropi- 
cal imagination. 

Marie  Seebach  was  playing  in  New  York  and  I 
longed  passionately  to  see  her. 

"  Oh,"  said  my  prompter,  one  morning,  *'  I 
wouldn't  worry  my  head  about  her;  she's  playing  to 
empty  benches  anyway." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  her  work?  Germans 
are  true  lovers  of  acting,  and  in  her  own  land  she  Is 
honoured  and  esteemed,  therefore  she  must  be  a  fine 
actress;  and,  oh,  I  do  want  to  see  somebody  worth 
honouring!  " 

But  Mr.  Prompter  was  not  to  be  moved  to  sym- 
pathy. "  Bad  business — bad  acting,"  was  his  belief, 
though  we  both  knew  where  some  very  Indifferent  act- 
ing was  being  done  to  packed  houses   nightly. 

Going  home  I  found  an  old  lady  relative  of  Mr. 
136 


BRILLIANT  FAILURES  137 

Jefferson's  (Mrs.  Fisher)  waiting  to  see  me,  and  al- 
most the  first  thing  she  said  was:  "  Well,  I've  had  a 
treat!  I'm  passionately  devoted  to  the  play  of  *  Jane 
Eyre,'  and  I've  seen  every  Jane  in  this  country.  Oh, 
yes,  my  dear,  I  saw  you  even  in  your  single  perform- 
ance for  the  Custer  Monument,  and  the  sooner  you 
add  the  play  to  your  repertoire  the  better,  for  you 
and  the  public.  It's  odd  what  different  points  ac- 
tresses will  seize  upon  in  the  same  play  to  make  prom- 
inent. Now  there's  your  exit  in  the  first  act,  that 
silent  agony  when  you  were  commanded  to  lay  down 
the  book  you  held  clasped  to  your  breast.  The  stolid, 
mulish  resistance  that  had  stiffened  into  one  anguished 
gesture  of  vain  appeal — then  with  drowned  eyes  and 
features  quivering  like  a  face  reflected  in  troubled 
water,  still  speechless,  you  disappeared — ah,  me!  it's 
hard  to  wet  old  eyes,  my  dear,  but  mine  were  brim- 
ming, and  my  throat  ached  chokingly.  But  there 
spoke  your  own  passion  for  books,  my  child — it  tinc- 
tured your  Jane  distinctly.  Last  night  I  saw  See- 
bach " 

"  Yes?  "  I  cried  enviously. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  and  I  thought  to  find  her 
too  old  at  every  point  of  the  play,  but  believe  me,  she 
was  quite  perfect.  Ugly — awkward — bony — fright- 
ened, she  slunk  and  dodged  about  until  her  outburst 
came,  and  then,  I  swear  to  you,  she  frightened  me — 
the  furious  cat!  Her  pale  eyes  glared;  she  hissed  and 
spat  her  words  at  her  aunt;  she  piled  accusation  upon 
accusation;  reminded  her  of  cold  and  hunger  borne, 
of  bruise  and  hurt  and  contemptuous  sneer,  but  all 


138  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  suffering  of  all  the  years  were  as  nothing  to  the 
tortured  child,  In  comparison  with  the  agony  of  terror 
she  had  known,  when  forced  by  her  cruel  aunt  to 
spend  the  night  alone  in  the  great  curtained  bed,  in 
the  big  dark  room,  where  her  uncle  had  just  died. 
My  dear,  never  have  I  seen  a  terror  like  to  that! 
She  shrank  together,  she  shook  like  a  palsy.  Her  wild 
eyes  darted  nervous  glances  in  all  directions.  Her 
voice  grew  shrill  and  high  and  her  final  cry: '  You  left 
me  there  in  the  dead  man's  bed;  in  the  dark  and  alone 
— alone— alone !  '  pierced  my  brain  like  a  physical 
pain;  and  I  saw  men  bite  their  lips  and  dart  quick 
glances  over  their  shoulders,  so  contagious  was  that 
awful  fright;  and  that  great  acting  was  witnessed  by 
perhaps  three  hundred  persons !  Ah,  we  are  a  strange 
people.  We  do,  most  assuredly,  appreciate  fine  art 
when  we  see  it,  but  our  attention  must  be  attracted  to 
it  by  the  beating  of  tom-toms ;  we  can't  trust  a  quiet 
announcement.  We  are  like  the  young  bees,  that 
ignore  all  gentle  persuasion  to  enter  a  beautiful  and 
convenient  hive,  while  the  dinner-horn  and  the  rat- 
tling of  tin  pans  will  bring  them  safely  swarming  Into 
a  section  of  hollow  log  or  a  hole  in  a  tumble-down 
chimney.  The  Madam  has  not  beaten  the  tom-tom, 
I'm  sure." 

After  that  I  was  still  more  eager  and  anxious,  for 
this  lady  spoke  with  authority,  as  she  had  herself  been 
an  actress  in  the  old  days  of  Burton's  management; 
had  been  a  friend  of  Charlotte  Cushman,  when  the 
latter  had  turned  from  singing  to  acting  and  was 
hampered  by  her  unusual  height  and  her  deep  voice. 


BRILLIANT  FAILURES  139 

From  that  period  too  dated  the  legend  of  Cushman's 
solemn,  secret  profanity.  She  was  most  wofully  awk- 
ward with  her  needle  it  seems,  and  for  one  play  she 
had  invariably  to  take  the  front  breadth  out  of  her 
cotton  velvet  gown,  that  it  might  be  trimmed  and 
looped  up  over  a  satin  petticoat.  She  stood  before  the 
cast-case  and  saw  the  detested  tragedy  announced 
again  for  next  day's  rehearsal,  and  in  her  deepest  tone 
remarked :  *'  There's  another  sore  thumb  in  store  for 

me.   D that  play   anyway — (pause) — and   the 

man  who  wrote  it — (pause) — and — and  the  fool 
who  keeps  putting  it  on  the  bill  every  week  or  two — 

d him  too !  "  and  she  stalked  away  like  a  young 

grenadier  in  petticoats. 

After  acting  at  matinee,  I  was  spared  the  Saturday 
night  performance  and  I  went  to  see  Seebach.  If  the 
night  was  dismal — the  theatre  was  a  desolation.  In 
the  foggy  atmosphere  the  lights  burned  blue  and  dim. 
The  overture  was  late,  slow  and  spiritless.  The  turn- 
ing up  of  the  lights  however  revealed  the  agreeable 
fact  that  the  audience  made  up  in  quality  what  was 
lacking  in  quantity,  and  most  of  the  people  there  bore 
names  that  would  honour  any  list  of  "  Among  those 
present  were,"  had  the  ubiquitous  one  only  been  on 
hand  to  take  them  down. 

The  play  was  "  Adrienne  Lecouvreur."  The 
scenery  was  old  and  tawdry  and  finger  marked;  the 
furniture  shabby;  but  the  costuming  was  correct  and 
the  work  of  the  company  was  excellent.  Undoubtedly 
Marie  Seebach's  first  appearance  was  disappointing 
to  an  audience.  She  was  one  of  those  women  who  are 


I40  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

prettier  in  private  life  than  on  the  stage.  She  had  a 
fine  head,  but  her  wigs  were  poor  and  marred  its 
shape.  Her  nose  was  very  prominent.  She  was  a 
blonde — not  of  the  luxuriant  and  golden  type,  but  of 
the  quiet,  unobtrusive,  flaxen  order.  She  did  not 
make  up  very  skilfully  either,  and  her  gowns  of  cor- 
rect design  and  of  rich  material  were  most  vilely 
fitted.  Most  of  them  were  cut  very  low  and  after 
the  early  Victoria  fashion — clear  off  the  shoulder.  I 
think  she  must  have  lost  much  flesh  after  their  mak- 
ing, for  they  merely  hung  upon  her  thin  figure,  and 
slipped  and  slid  and  kept  her  busy  clutching  at  first 
one  shoulder  and  then  the  other  in  a  distressful  ef- 
fort to  keep  her  waist  from  dropping  quite  below 
any  point  sanctioned  by  the  proprieties.  It  was  evi- 
dently an  old  habit,  too,  for  in  the  middle  of  her 
lover's  tenderest  speech,  at  the  most  tense  moment  of 
a  critical  situation,  up  went  the  shoulder,  clutch  went 
the  thin  white  hand  at  the  slipping  waist.  It  was  very 
trying  to  the  nerves  of  the  lookers-on.  Women  felt 
like  crying — men  felt  like  swearing,  and  one  who  sat 
on  my  left,  snapped  out  to  his  companion:  "Oh, 
why  don't  she  let  that  thing  drop,  mother,  and  do 
her  acting  in  her  petticoat?  " 

I  received  proof  that  night  that  history  repeats 
itself,  even  in  the  matter  of  absurdities.  Most  of  us 
recall  with  what  impish  glee  Miss  Rhoda  Broughton 
makes  the  homeliest  man  in  town  roar  out  to  the 
lovely  heroine,  in  the  sudden  stoppage  of  the  waltz 
music:  "Oh,  call  me  just  plain  William!"  Else- 
where in  a  church,  crowded  to  suffocation,  it  hap- 


BRILLIANT  FAILURES  141 

pened  that  the  thunder  of  the  organ  ceased  with 
such  amazing  suddenness  that  every  person  in  the 
sacred  edifice  heard  a  fretful  voice  declare,  "  Well, 
we  cook  ours  in  butter!  "  And  here  In  this  theatre, 
between  the  third  and  fourth  acts,  the  ancient  joke 
was  played  again.  The  overture  was  very  noisy;  the 
victim,  being  an  outsider,  did  not  of  course  notice  the 
signal  to  the  leader  of  the  flashed  footlights,  and  sud- 
denly, unexpectedly,  the  music  fell  away  into  a  silence, 
broken  only  by  an  eager  young  voice  saying:  "  You 
call  it  a  tucker,  and  a  ribbon  draws  it  up  all  nice  and 

close  around  the "   Oh,  scarlet  face  and  startled 

eyes,  what  waves  of  laughter  swept  up  to  your  burn- 
ing ears  and  beat  about  your  box!  Not  malicious 
merriment  over  the  mortifying  small  mishap,  but  the 
people  hearing  of  the  tucker  that  a  ribbon  drew  nice 
and  close,  had  with  quick  wit  fitted  it  to  the  too  low, 
too  loose  corsage  of  the  actress,  and  laughed  com- 
prehendingly  and  long. 

It  was  surprising  how  soon  this  plain,  almost  in- 
significant woman  actor  began  to  dominate  her  audi- 
ence. First  you  recognised  an  intellect,  clear, 
calm,  strong;  then  as  you  became  eager,  alert,  the 
skill,  the  polish,  the  authority  of  the  trained  artiste 
shone  forth  to  your  delight.  For  myself,  at  that 
point  I  was  conscious  of  a  firm  resolve  to  study  with 
all  my  heart  and  soul  the  beautiful  method  of  the 
great  German  before  me.  When  her  lips  twisted  into 
so  forced  a  smile,  such  dog-like  pleading  filled  her 
eyes,  even  while  she  was  sweeping  her  stately  curtsey 
and   speaking   over    her    shoulder    indifferent    high 


142  THE  LIFE    OF  A  STAR 

words,  that  fascinated  by  the  glimpse  of  suffering 
womanhood  held  in  thrall,  I  wondered  only  if  she 
were  strong  enough  to  hold  her  own  against  enemies 
so  crafty.  My  spirits  went  up — went  down,  as  she 
was  succeeding  or  failing;  but  the  method,  the 
school — dear  Heaven,  what  had  become  of  my  study 
of  method,  manner,  school? 

She  was,  I  think,  the  greatest  Adrienne  I  ever  saw. 
She  was  less  brilliant.  Her  love  was  not  of  the 
tigress  order;  it  seemed  to  be  a  tender  idolatry.  She 
believed  the  Count  de  Saxe  so  readily  when  he  ex- 
plained away  her  jealousy;  indeed  she  seemed  ever 
piteously  eager  for  an  excuse  to  foi'give  him. 

Her  business  over  the  returned  bouquet,  I  shall 
never  forget.  She  had  taken  the  fatal  kiss  from  Its 
poisoned   petals,    and    with   the    sorrowful    words: 

"  Thus  ends  all  memory  of  him  and  of  my  love!  " 

— she  slowly  turned,  dropped  the  flowers  into  the 
grate  and  stood  looking  down  upon  them  in  a  sort  of 
frozen  despair.  When  suddenly  a  tiny  flame  quivered 
up  through  the  leaves  and  stems — she  gave  a  faint 
cry,  a  wave  of  tenderest  love  swept  across  her  face. 
She  caught  back  her  sleeve  and  with  bare  arm  and 
hand  snatched  desperately  but  vainly  at  the  burning 
token  that  flamed  up  fiercely  and  went  black — out. 
Then  stretching  her  empty  hands  piteously  over  the 
little  grey  pile  of  ash,  with  a  heavy  sob  she  fell  upon 
her  face.  Figuratively  speaking  I  went  upon  my 
knees  to  her — the  house  was  quite  wild  and  bravas 
filled  the  air. 


BRILLIANT  FAILURES  143 

In  one  respect  Madam  Seebach  was  Intensely- 
original  it  seemed  to  me,  in  that  she  subtly  conveyed 
the  impression  that  Adrienne  never  quite  forgot  her 
lowly  station;  never  forgot  the  superior  birth  of 
those  about  her;  that  she  was  but  a  favourite  toy  of 
the  Court,  though  the  idol  of  the  public.  The  lines 
in  the  4th  act,  that  most  Adriennes  speak  satirically, 
she  spoke  with  great  and  modest  sincerity.  When  at 
the  hotel  of  the  Princess  de  Bouillon,  Michonnet  says 
aside,  speaking  of  Adrienne, 

"  She  looks  as  great  a  lady  as  the  best  of  them" 

she  herself  remarks: 

"  In  truth,  I  am  confused  by  so  much  honour — 
you  and  these  ladies  who  have  deigned  to  receive  me, 
afford  the  humble  artist  the  opportunity  of  studying 
that  exquisite  style,  that  elegance  of  carriage,  which 
you  alone  possess." 

And  really,  I  think  a  little  study  of  the  scene  justi- 
fies her  reading  as  the  correct  one.  Even  in  the  great 
speech  from  "  Phedre,"  her  restraint  of  manner  was 
wonderful.  She  trusted  to  the  strength  of  the  recited 
words  alone,  leaving  others  to  apply  their  meaning 
to  the  Princess,  if  they  chose.  Every  other  Adrienne 
I  have  ever  seen  (even  Bernhardt's  and  Modjeska's) 
makes  the  insult  deliberately  Intentional,  approach- 
ing the  Princess  and  pointing  the  finger  of  scorn  at 
her  very  brow,  at  the  last  line, 

"  Unblushing  wantons,  who  know  not  what  is  shame!  " 


144  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Of  course  the  latter  is  the  more  dramatic,  but  I  had 
to  admire  the  consistency  of  the  artiste  who  sacrificed 
a  great  point,  rather  than  let  her  character  get  out 
of  drawing.  So,  to  the  last  scene,  pathetic,  idola- 
trously  loving,  failing,  failing — fading;  she  avoided 
the  horrors  the  scene  tempts  an  actress  to.  Only 
she  was  tortured  into  a  wild  cry  for  "Life!  life!  " 
After  that,  gently,  uncomplainingly,  she  sank  away, 
and  in  some  mysterious  manner  she  seemed  to  col- 
lapse, to  shrink  bodily,  just  as  her  voice  weakened 
and  waxed  faint,  weaker,  till  at  the  end  it  might  have 
been  the  body  of  a  child  that  lay  in  the  chair,  with 
ghastly,  upturned  face. 

It  had  been  a  beautiful  performance.  With  hearty 
gratitude  I  did  my  share  to  bring  the  distinguished 
woman  before  the  curtain  many  times;  and  she 
seemed  much  pleased  by  the  warmth  of  the  people, 
and  smiled  so  brightly,  waved  her  hand  so  graciously, 
that  we  had  half  a  mind  and  a  strong  inclination  to 
sit  down  again  and  chat  a  while  with  her. 

In  the  lobby,  the  pouring  of  the  rain  could  be 
plainly  heard,  but  not  a  face  darkened;  everyone  in 
that  small  crowd  was  exclaiming  aloud:  "Delight- 
ful!" "Is  she  not  an  accomplished  creature?" 
"How  glad  I  am  we  came!" — could  constantly  be 
heard;  and  recalling  the  fine  performance,  as  I  gave 
a  final  glance  at  that  small,  yet  delighted  crowd,  I 
said  to  myself:  "  Clara,  my  dear,  you  have  seen  this 
night  a  most  brilliant  failure.  It's  easy  enough  to 
place  the  brilliancy  correctly,  but  to  whom  must  the 
failure  be  charged?    To  the  public — or  to  the  man- 


BRILLIANT  FAILURES  145 

ager?  "  Suddenly  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Fisher's  speech 
about  the  bees  and  the  tom-toms.  I  laughed  rather 
ruefully,  but  I  accepted  her  conclusion.  Madame 
Seebach,  herself  an  artiste,  had  not  deigned  to  beat 
the  tom-tom,  hence  this  brilliant  failure. 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

TO  this  day  I  feel  a  faint,  creepy  chill  along 
my  spine  when  I  recall  the  first  year  of  my 
career  as  a  "  star  "  and  that  crucial  moment 
when  my  fate  hung  in  the  balance — when  Boston's 
steady  hand  held  the  scales  and  Boston's  voice  was 
to  decide  for  or  against  me.  I  dry  my  forehead  now 
when  I  think  of  it. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  in  the  old  days  of  the 
American  stage  a  star  was  more  absolutely,  more 
utterly  dependent  upon  the  favour  of  the  public  than 
she  is  to-day.  With  the  evolution  of  the  press-agent 
yet  undreamed  of,  and  the  "  angel  "  or  "  backer  " 
almost  unknown,  the  situation  was  simple  as  stern. 
If  the  public  liked  you  and  rolled  its  dollars  blithely 
into  the  box-office  drawer  you  were  a  proud  and 
happy  star.  If  the  public  was  bored  by  you,  no 
dollars  came  with  which  to  pay  printers'  bills,  hotel 
and  travelling  bills :  lo,  you  were  a  humiliating  fail- 
ure !  All  the  expensive  and  complicated  machinery 
that  is  used  to-day  to  force  a  success  was  undreamed 
of  then. 

In  those  days,  too,  there  was  a  solemn  awe  which 
that  august  name,  Boston,  inspired  in  the  dramatic 
breast.  To  have  played  a  season  in  any  Boston 
theatre  meant  an  addition  of  at  least  five  dollars  a 
week  to  the  salar}^  of  either  man  or  woman  in  the 

146 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  147 

"stock";  while  to  have  played  in  the  old  Boston 
Museum  meant  a  pale,  but  to  the  eyes  of  the  faithful 
a  visible  halo  hovering  about  the  head.  New  York? 
Do  not  mistake  me,  for  then,  as  now.  New  York  was 
the  beautiful,  glittering  Mecca  toward  which  every 
eye  turned  longingly.  For  a  success  in  New  York  one 
would  risk  one's  life,  but  for  a  success  in  Boston — 
intellectual,  coldly,  keenly  critical  Boston — there  were 
those  who  would  have  risked  their  immortal  souls ! 

And  so  from  my  earliest  youth  had  I  heard  Boston 
exalted,  and  by  the  time  I  was  seventeen  years  old, 
I  could  frighten  myself  cold  and  stiff  by  the  simple 
device  of  pretending  I  had  to  open  In  Boston  that 
night. 

Finally,  when  the  years  of  hard  work  had  gone  by, 
each  leaving  me  some  tiny  particles  of  the  golden  dust 
of  knowledge,  together  with  a  keener  observation 
and  a  truer  appreciation  of  those  above  me,  the  dread- 
ful trial  came.  The  Boston  engagement  was  to  cover 
the  last  two  weeks  of  my  first  season  as  a  star.  Worn 
to  a  shadow — unceasing  pain,  much  travel,  hard 
work  and  mental  anxiety  had  brought  the  end  of  my 
tether  well  into  view,  so  far  as  physical  endurance 
was  concerned;  and  as  "  Camille  "  was  the  play  for 
the  first  week  and  "  Miss  Multon  "  for  the  second, 
an  almost  unbearable  strain  was  entailed  upon  me, 
in  that  while  acting  a  five-act  play  I  should  have  also 
to  rehearse  every  day  "  Miss  Multon's  "  five  acts 
with  a  company  that  had  never  seen  the  play. 

So  it  happened  that  I  faced  my  trial  engagement 
in  the  worst  possible  shape,  and  as  I  left  my  dressing- 


148  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

room  before  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  the  doctor  ex- 
claimed fretfully:  "  You're  playing  this  engagement 
on  your  naked  nerves." 

And  I  turned  to  suggest  solemnly,  "  Undraped 
nerves,  please,  doctor;  do  remember  this  is  Boston, 
where  even  people's  thoughts  are  properly  clothed." 
Another  moment  and  I  had  taken  the  plunge  and  was 
standing  with  bowed  head  trying  to  get  back  my 
breath,  and  dimly  realising  that  this  reception  was 
not  the  courteous,  cool  greeting  I  had  expected,  but 
was  full  of  hearty  warmth  that  meant — welcome. 
And  it  suddenly  dawned  on  me  that  if  I  failed  to 
come  up  to  its  expectations,  this  great  audience  would 
be — sorry.  An  immense  gratitude  filled  my  heart; 
every  instinct  I  ever  had  for  acting  seemed  to  spring 
up,  alert  and  eager.  My  one  desire  for  the  moment 
was  to  prove  to  these  people  that  in  the  sin-weary 
soul  which  Camille  dragged  about  in  her  disease- 
smitten  slow-dying  body  there  still  existed  the  tiny 
spark  divine,  and  that  blown  upon  by  a  true  love  it 
might  kindle  into  the  steady,  white  flame  of  self- 
sacrifice.  For  a  time  my  fears  fell  from  me — I  forgot 
in  what  city  I  was. 

In  the  third  act  there  was  a  wordless  point  which 
in  other  cities  I  had  tried  to  make,  but  if  it  had  suc- 
ceeded there  had  been  no  recognition  made  in  either 
applause  or  in  criticism.  To  me,  personally,  it  always 
seemed  that  at  old  man  Duval's  first  mention  of  his 
daughter,  Camille  chilled  with  the  breath  of  coming 
doom; that  vaguely, uncertainly,  she  felt  in  the  crystal 
purity  of  that  girl's  character  the  Juggernaut  before 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  149 

which  she  and  her  late-blooming  love  were  to  be  cast. 
So,  seated  at  the  table  that  night,  Camille,  with 
nervous,  never-resting  fingers  plaiting  and  unplaiting 
the  cover,  listened  unmoved  to  all  arguments,  until 
Duval  pere  said:  "I  have  a  daughter  (the  busy 
fingers  paused) — young — beautiful — and  pure  as  an 
angel."  At  the  word  "  pure  "  her  hands  fell.  Then, 
like  a  timid  animal  scenting  danger,  Camille's 
frightened  eyes  stared  straight  into  vacancy,  while 
all  breathless,  motionless,  she  waited  her  doom  to 
shape  itself,  take  form,  as  it  did  in  the  words :  "  She 
loves  as  you  do — but  the  family  of  the  man  she  is 
about  to  marry  has  heard  of  you  and " 

The  words  were  crossed  by  sudden  applause, 
steady,  sustained,  comprehensive;  and  joy  rose  to 
my  very  lips.  These  people  understood  what  I  had 
tried  all  dumbly  to  express.  Ah,  I  thought,  truly  this 
is  Boston! 

Then  at  last,  when  all  was  over,  we  faced  each 
other  with  wet  eyes  but  smiling  lips,  and  standing 
beaming,  bowing,  it  seemed  to  me  that  through  the 
great  roar  I  was  conscious  of  each  concomitant  hand- 
clap, cane-thump  or  foot-stamp,  every  breaking  out 
of  a  soppy  little  handkerchief  or  broader  flutter  of 
a  bigger,  dryer  one.  Then  the  leader  of  the  orchestra 
stood  boldly  up  and  heartily  applauded — a  mighty 
compliment  that,  and  I,  who  did  not  know  him  yet 
other  than  that  he  was  a  musician  of  parts,  swept  him 
in  return  the  deepest  courtesy  I  could  reach  short  of 
sitting  down  flat  before  him;  and  in  thus  pleasing 
myself  I  pleased  the  house,  for  the  leader  was  no 


I50  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

other  than  Mr.  Napier  Lothian,  and  a  mighty  man 
in  Boston's  musical  circles. 

Oh,  but  I  was  happy!  For  was  not  this  Boston 
that  smiled  upon  me!  So,  believing  myself  out  of  the 
woods  of  doubt  and  fear,  I  felt  free  to  halloo  my 
gratitude,  my  surprise  and  joy  to  all  the  points  of  the 
compass !  I  never  dreamed  that  eight  days  later  I 
should  face  them  again  in  a  terror  compared  to 
which  to-night's  would  seem  composure — on  trial 
again  not  merely  as  an  actress,  but  as  a  woman 
charged  with  an  error  without  precedent  in  theatrical 
history. 

In  "  Camille  "  I  had  been  supported  by  the  local 
company,  and  their  work  had  been  excellent.  They 
were  clever,  experienced  players,  and  as  I  had 
brought  v/ith  me  two  young  girls  to  play  Jane  and 
Paul  in  "  Miss  Multon,"  I  looked  forward  to  an 
exceptionally  fine  performance  of  it,  and  worked 
hard  toward  that  end  with  a  very  passion  of  energy 
that  filled  the  manager  with  anxiety  lest  this  thor- 
ough training  of  the  company  should  leave  me 
bankrupt  of  strength  for  my  own  hard  part. 

The  ladies  of  the  cast  were  the  first  to  know  their 
lines,  the  first  to  comprehend  the  story  of  the  play  and 
to  grasp  the  meaning  of  its  *'  situations  "  and  to 
hold  them.  But  with  the  men  I  could  wear  out  my 
throat,  my  strength  and  my  patience  in  the  clearest 
possible  explanations  of  delicate  and  important  bits 
of  business,  only  to  find  that  next  day  the  entire 
matter  had  been  forgotten;  and,  worse,  the  instructed 
ones  were  still  imperfect  in  their  lines. 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  151 

Too  late  for  the  knowledge  to  be  of  sennce  to  me, 
I  discovered  the  cause  of  this  cruel  indifference  to 
the  fate  of  the  new  play. 

It  was  one  of  the  cast  who  said  to  another :  "  Well, 
I'm  blest  if  you  know  your  few  lines  yet,  and  my  con- 
science !  how  that  woman  has  worked  over  you !  " 

"  Over  me ! — better  say  over  the  old  man.  He's 
going  to  go  all  to  pieces — you  mark  now.   That  part 

is  a  terror,  and  you  know  how  S likes  to  put  off 

study  and  '  wing  '  his  lines.  But  he'll  come  down 
like  a  thousand  of  brick  this  time." 

"  Ah,  well,"  returned  the  other,  "  who  wants  to 
break  himself  over  a  new  part  the  last  week  of  the 
season?  And  even  if  a  paper  gives  you  a  black  eye, 
what  of  it — before  next  season  opens  it'll  be  for- 
gotten.   A  new  play  for  the  closing  week!  " 

In  these  brutally  frank  words  I  found  corrobo- 
ration of  my  worst  fears,  which  from  the  first  had 

gathered  about  Mr.  S ,  who  was  cast  for  the 

beautiful,  lovable,  dignified  old  Belin,  tutor  to  the 
two  children,  even  as  he  had  been  tutor  to  their 
father  before  them. 

Here,  then,  in  Boston — of  all  places  on  earth — I 
was  to  meet  not  opposition  but  inertia ! 

Few  plays  contain  as  difiicult  a  scene  as  that  of 
Belin' s  in  the  second  act  of  "  Miss  Multon."  He 
alone  holds  all  the  threads  of  this  dreadful  domestic 
tangle.  Every  soul  in  that  family,  guilty  or  innocent, 
has  a  hand  upon  his  heartstrings.  He  owes  love  and 
gratitude  to  all  who  bear  the  honourable  name  of  De 
la  Tour.    Trying  from  one  to  hide  his  guilty  knowl- 


T52  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

edge  behind  a  mask  of  childlike  candour  and  inno- 
cence; addressing  Miss  Midton  openly  in  terms  of 
chill  reserve  and  formality,  but  secretly  with  trem- 
bling, piteous  entreaty;  attempting  to  serve  all,  he 
quite  naturally  comes  to  grief — but  in  the  coming, 
what  splendid  chances  for  acting,  as  New  York 
proved  by  its  glad  acclaim  of  Mr.  John  Parselle 
as  an  artist  par  excellence  in  this  same  part  of 
Belin. 

That  in  this  part  an  actor  has  need  of  all  his 
quickness  and  certainty  of  action,  to  say  naught  of 
perfect  memory,  a  single  speech  delivered  by  Sarah 
Mutton,  with  its  attendant  business  for  Belin,  will 
indicate.  The  open  lines  are  Miss  Miilton's,  those 
in  parentheses  Belin's  business. 

"Monsieur  Belin!  (he  turns  sharply  away); 
Monsieur  Belin!  (he  trembles  violently,  folds  his 
arms  and  holds  position)  ;  will  you  be  the  one  to 
say,  '  Do  not  receive  this  woman  (he  weeps),  she  is 
not  Sarah  Multon — she  is  Fernande  '?  (face  hidden, 
throws  out  left  hand  in  entreaty).  Now  look  at  me, 
Monsieur  Belin — look,  I  say!  (she  grasps  his  hand 
and  he  turns  very  slowly  and  in  utter  dread)  and 
learn  to  understand  me  better,  sir!  If  you  do  not  aid 
me  to  remain  here;  if  you  drive  me  away — I  living, 
you  know  the  result !  That  marriage  is  void — that 
woman  is  no  longer  his  wife!  (with  a  cry  of  anguish 
he  extends  clasped  hands  and  implores,  etc.)" 

So  in  this  single  speech  Belin  finds  six  cues  to  re- 
member instead  of  the  usual  one.  Truly  one  needs 
to  be  letter-perfect  in  such  a  part. 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  153 

Well,  it  had  to  come,  that  Monday  night,  and 
when  I  saw  the  big  house  and  noted  the  air  of  sup- 
pressed excitement,  the  tears  rushed  to  my  eyes — 
tears  of  nerve-worn  self-pity. 

"Am  I  ready?  Yes,"  I  answered  to  the  Inquiring 
call-boy;  and  the  next  moment  the  curtain  was  up, 
and  the  scene  at  the  doctor's  office  in  London  was 
going  on,  and  it  was  really  going  well.  Yes,  the 
servant  was  sputtering  and  confused;  the  old  bach- 
elor doctor  and  old  maid  sister  snapped  and  snarled 
deliciously  in  a  laboriously  vain  effort  to  hide  their 
mutual  affection;  the  audience  laughed  heartily  (oh, 
blessed  sound!)  ;  then  the  "charity  children"  tum- 
bled on,  and  then,  grey-haired,  grey-cloaked,  bon- 
neted and  gloved,  a  sort  of  ashen,  sad  woman.  Miss 
Multon  was  softly  crossing  the  stage,  through  that 
perfect  stillness  that  brings  a  thrill  of  triumph  to 
the  actress  whose  art  has  so  far  hidden  her  identity 
that  her  own  personality  Is  obscured  by  that  of  the 
character  she  is  representing. 

With  my  first  words,  "  What  toys?  "  came  recog- 
nition and  a  storm  of  applause  that  rocked  me  back 
and  forth  as  a  tempest  might  have  done.  But 
secret  fear  was  racking  me;  self-control  was  go- 
ing. My  face  worked  painfully,  tears  rose  to  my 
eyes,  when — I  almost  feel  it  still — the  circling 
warmth  and  comfort  of  the  sturdy  little  arm  that 
slipped  strongly  about  my  swaying  body;  I  almost 
hear  again  the  friendly  voice  whispering  quickly: 
"Don't — don't  break,  dear;  think  of  the  part  you 
play !  "    Clever  old  actress,  how  well  she  knew  what 


154  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

note  to  sound:  "Think  of  the  part!"  One  mo- 
ment I  cking  to  her,  the  next  I  had  slipped  safely 
back  into  the  character  of  the  sorrow-numbed,  ashen- 
grey  Miss  Midton.  The  first  curtain  fell  upon  gen- 
uine success.  There  had  been  errors,  several  of  them; 
but  they  had  been  of  so  slight  a  nature  that  the  audi- 
ence had  not  detected  them. 

As  I  hurried  to  my  room,  I  caught  sight  of  a  man 
in  a  distant  entrance  tramping  wildly  up  and  down 
with  a  part  in  his  hand — which  part  he  was  studying 
with  might  and  main.  It  was  Belin.  I  spoke  no  word, 
but  my  heart  fell  swift  and  heavy  as  a  plummet. 

The  second  act  was  on,  and  as  I  came  to  my  place 
of  waiting  for  my  cue,  I  distinctly  heard  the  children 
prompting.  Oh,  I  groaned,  he  cannot  already  have 
come  to  grief!  I  hurried  to  an  opening  and  looked 
on  the  stage.  That  most  tender  and  moving  scene 
where  the  children  {Jane  and  Paul)  beg  their  tutor 
to  drop  lessons  for  a  few  moments,  in  order  to  tell 
them  of  their  dear,  dead  mother,  whom  they  love 
and  can  still  faintly  remember,  was  being  turned  into 
ridicule  by  the  honest  but  unskilled  efforts  of  the 
children  to  prompt  the  actor  in  his  lines.  They  knew 
naught  of  the  trick  of  looking  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion while  softly  passing  the  missing  word  to  the 
person  in  trouble ;  they  simply  blurted  out  the  correct 
line,  looking  squarely  at  him  and  greatly  amusing 
the  audience  by  their  superior  knowledge — and  that 
was  the  beginning  of  the  end. 

Never,  no,  never,  in  my  most  overworked  days  in 
the  West,  had  I  taken  part  in  a  performance  like 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  155 

this.  Most  important  situations  were  ignored  be- 
cause Mr.  S — --  dared  not  leave  the  prompt-side 
of  the  stage  and  get  beyond  the  prompter's  voice. 
Others  grew  confused  by  that  and  in  turn  forgot 
their  lines.  Someone  missed  a  cue  and  did  not  go  on 
until  after  an  agonising  wait. 

Then  came  the  big  scene  between  Belin  and  Miss 
Mttlton.  It  was  a  scene  for  gods  and  men  alike  to 
wonder  over.  All  the  delicate  side-play  was  wiped 
out  of  existence.  Acting — there  was  none.  The  whole 
thing  degenerated  into  a  wild  catch-as-catch-can  strug- 
gle for  the  bare  lines.  This  was  no  polished  gentle- 
man and  scholarly  old  bookworm,  but  a  dishevelled, 
flustered,  sputtering  old  man,  who  had  utterly  lost 
his  bearings,  and  who  cast  into  the  French  play  now 
and  again  a  few  American  colloquialisms,  so  that  the 
people  roared  with  laughter.  Still  I  grimly  fought  on, 
trying  to  maintain  the  woman's  personal  dignity 
and  tragic  intensity,  until  this  happened:  He  should 
have  turned  his  back  upon  me,  as  we  had  so  often  re- 
hearsed, but  instead  he  stood  gazing  toward  me. 
Between  my  teeth  I  said  to  him:  "Turn  away — 
turn  away,  please."  Then  I  resumed:  "Monsieur 
Belin,  will  you  be  the  one  to  say  (stay  where  you  are) 
'  Do  not  receive  this  woman :  she  is  not  Sarah  Multon 
— she  is  Fernande'?  (For  God's  sake,  sir,  turn 
away!)"  Then  with  intense  determination  I  said: 
"  Now  look  at  me,  Monsieur  Belin,  and  understand 
me  better!  " 

It  was  too  much  I  My  aside  Instructions  had  been 
overheard;  and  to  cap  all  he  had  turned  and  like  a 


I  56  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

great  boy,  stammered:  "  Y-y-yes,  ma'^am."  Swift 
laughter  ran  over  the  house,  and  I  realised  that  when 
the  wave  of  ridicule  includes  the  heroine  the  play  is 
dead. 

I  was  dazed — chilled!  Some  way  I  reached  the 
end,  and  the  curtain  fell  on  utter  disaster.  One  or 
two  persons  patted  me  on  the  shoulder  and  said: 
"What  a  shame!  "  Then  it  all  rushed  over  me  in 
one  great  wave !  The  outrage  upon  the  author,  the 
insult  to  the  public  and  my  own  undeserved  downfall. 
Turning  about  I  said  to  the  prompter:  "  Dismiss 
those  people,  please." 

Everyone  stood  stock  still  and  stared  unbeliev- 
ingly at  me. 

I  repeated  sharply,  "Dismiss  that  audience!  If 
you  do  not  care  to  assume  the  responsibility  send  for 
the  manager !  When  this  company  knows  its  lines  we 
will  present  the  play  again — not  before !  "  and  burst- 
ing into  dry,  tearless  sobs  and  gasps  of  excitement  I 
rushed  toward  my  dressing-room. 

Shall  I  ever  forget  the  scene  that  followed?  Above 
the  playing  of  the  overture  rose  a  very  Babel.  My 
own  name  came  to  me  in  tones  of  entreaty,  of  warn- 
ing, of  almost  childish  pleading.  The  beloved  little 
woman  w^ho  played  Miss  Osborne  patted  my  hands 
and  said:  "My  dear,  my  dear!  they  have  driven 
you  quite  out  of  your  head,  but — but  you  can't  dis- 
miss the  audience !  " 

I  lifted  her  plump,  small  hand  to  my  lips  and 
whispered:  "  I  must — the  people  do  not  know  their 
lines." 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  157 

"  Dree  your  ain  weird!  "  she  said  curtly,  and  fell 
away  from  me. 

The  working  forces  of  the  theatre  gathered,  a 
shirt-sleeved  group,  about  me,  as  I  moved  toward 
my  room,  expressing  a  sympathy  with  me  and  a  red- 
hot  willingness  to  wipe  up  the  stage  with  the  recal- 
citrant actors  in  the  morning;  advising  me  to  go  for 
them  through  the  papers,  but  assuring  me  as  one 
man  that  Boston  "  w^as  queer  an'  wouldn't  stand  no 
turnin'  out  of  lights  on  'em." 

Then  suddenly  through  the  crowd  broke  dear  old 
*'  Dan "  Maguinnes.  During  my  successful  first 
week  Dan  had  laughingly  boasted  of  his  friendship, 
saying  of  me:  "  I  knew  her  In  Halifax,  where  she 
helped  nurse  my  sick  sister,  and  when  she  was  No- 
body of  Nowhere;  and  just  three  weeks  later  she  was 
the  biggest  sort  of  Somebody  of  a  New  York 
Theatre." 

Dan  was  a  good  and  a  very  careful  actor,  and  I 
hoped,  as  he  rushed  toward  me,  that  he  at  least  un- 
derstood and  had  come  to  approve  my  action.  Alas, 
his  anger  was  hot.  He  began  to  bluster.  He  admit- 
ted that  the  eccentricities  of  Belin  had  played  havoc 
with  the  play,  but  I  must  go  on,  or — or  he  was  done 
with  me. 

The  rumour  of  trouble  had  reached  the  music- 
room,  and  Mr.  Lothian,  the  leader,  came  like  a 
whirling  dervish  upon  the  scene.  I  had  been  very 
proud  of  his  warm  approval  of  my  work  the  week 
before. 

Besides  being  a  brilliant  musician  he  was  a  witty. 


158  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

jolly,  big-hearted  man  whom  I  liked  amazingly,  and 
though  he  used  rather  rough  arguments  against  me 
then  I  was  convinced  that  he  believed  he  was  acting 
for  my  own  good.  Again  I  wearily  repeated:  "  When 
these  people  know  their  lines  I  will  offer  the  play — 
not  before!  " 

A  violent  oath  broke  from  him :  "  Then  you'll 
never  present  the  play  in  this  city!  Dismiss  that  au- 
dience and  you  will  never  be  allowed  on  a  local  stage 
again.  I  know  Boston  better  than  I  know  my  oldest 
scores,  and  it  never  forgives !  But  go  your  own  way 
and  be  hanged  to  you !  "  As  he  rushed  from  me  I 
heard  him  say  to  Maguinnes :  "  With  all  her  gifts 
she's  dead  and  done  for  now!  " 

Then  Mr.  Orlando  Tompkins  (the  manager)  ap- 
proached with  Mr.  S at  his  side,  bowing  pro- 
fusely and  talking  rapidly. 

I  reached  my  room  at  last,  and  after  the  imme- 
morial habit  of  the  outnumbered,  placed  my  back  to 
the  wall  and  with  the  regularity  of  a  minute-gun 
fired  at  all  comers  my  one  dogged,  set  speech,  "  When 
these  people  know  their  lines  I  will  offer  the  play — 
not  before !  " 

In  that  excited  crowd  Mr.  Tompkins  was  a  really 
impressive  figure,  and  though  his  disquiet,  perplexity, 
and  worry  deepened  into  most  obvious  anger  at  times, 
he  maintained  his  dignity  throughout  and  never  used 
a  rough  or  churlish  word.  Swiftly  I  described  what 
had  occurred  and  my  following  resolve. 

The  manager  looked  hard  at  Mr.   S ,   who 

shuffled,  rubbed  hands  and  finally  acknowledged  that 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  159 

"  The — er — action — er — had  been  a  trifle  ragged, 
and  perhaps  had  dragged  a  little,  but — er " 

I  interrupted:  "The  play  has  been  broken  into 
pieces — spat  upon,  and  cast  down  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  groundlings  out  there!" 

But  Mr.  Tompkins  said  soothingly:  "Well,  you 
have  done  your  best;  and  as  the  second  overture  is 
on,  we  will  withdraw  while  you  change  your  dress 
and  get  on  with  the  next  act.  Perhaps  it  will  redeem 
this  disaster." 

I  shook  my  head:  "  We  are  not  living  in  the  age 
of  miracles.  Sir,  this  play  is  dead.  Only  when  the 
people  know  their  lines  will  I  attempt  to  offer  it 
again !  " 

His  face  flushed,  but  his  manner  remained  calm. 
"Miss  Morris,  what  possesses  you?"  he  asked. 
"  Your  action  is  incredible;  it  has  no  precedent  in  the 
history  of  the  stage.  No  audience  was  ever  dismissed 
before  for  such  a  reason.  You  have  no  rule  to  sus- 
tain you !  " 

"You  may  be  right,"  I  answered;  "but  I  am 
acting  on  principle.  Honest  dealing  with  the  public 
has  been  my  religion.  This  audience  paid  its  money 
to  see  the  play  that  delighted  New  York  for  months. 
That  was  what  we  promised  it.  Well,  is  this  the  New 
York  play?  You  know  it  is  not.  No,  I  will  not  fur- 
ther insult  the  intelligence  of  these  people  by  offering 
them  three  more  acts  of  hopeless  imbecility !  " 

Mr.  Tompkins,  speaking  more  sharply  than  be- 
fore, asked:  "Do  you  know  what  this  action  will 
cost  you,  Miss  Morris?  " 


R 


1 60  THE  LIFE  OF  A  ST  A 

My  lips  quivered  a  little  as  I  replied:  "  Do  you 
mean  my  engagement?  Well,  that  must  rest  with 
you,  sir." 

"  I  mean  that  Boston  will  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  you." 

Nervously,  excitedly,  I  laughed:  "Then  some 
other  city  must  provide  my  beans — and  I'll  cut  out 
the  brown  bread,  since  Boston  alone  can  produce  it." 

*' Believe- me,"  he  continued,  "you  will  not  find 
this  a  jesting  matter.  Only  when  Boston  has  rejected 
you  will  you  begin  to  find  how  far  her  power  reaches ; 
how  many  cities  are  influenced  by  her  judgment;  how 
her  disfavour  will  go  far  toward  ruining  a  young 
star." 

At  that  moment  I  caught  sight,  in  the  crowd  out- 
side the  open  door,  of  my  own  agent.  He  was  very 
pale,  and  as  his  eyes  met  mine  he  shook  his  head  and 
made  a  warning  gesture.  That  almost  broke  me 
down,  but  I  swallowed  the  lump  in  my  throat  and 
started  up  the  minute-gun  again:  "  When  your  peo- 
ple know  their  lines  I  will  offer  the  play  again — not 
before!" 

The  overture  had  ended — an  ominous  stamping  of 
feet  and  shrill  whistling  followed.    Mr.  Tompkins 

turned  to  Mr.  S ,  and  said:   "  She  is  immovable 

— dismiss  the  audience." 

With  almost  a  groan  of  relief,  I  reached  up  an 
arm   for  my  big  cloak,   when  I   caught   from   Mr. 

S 's    low-toned    answer   two    most    illuminating 

words:    "  Her  sickness?  " 

Then  my  temper  broke.    With  a  cry  of  wrath  I 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  i6i 

sprang  at  the  man  and  caught  him  by  the  wrist. 
"Dare!"  I  gasped.  "You  dare  to  go  before  the 
curtain  and  charge  this  fiasco  to  sickness  of  mine, 
and  at  your  very  first  word  I  will  appear  at  the 
opposite  side  and  tell  the  people  the  whole  truth. 
Now  go ! — but  I  shall  listen  to  every  word,  mind 
you !  You  have  made  of  me  a  thing  of  ridicule  to- 
night, but  you  shall  not  use  me  for  a  scapegoat 
besides!  " 

He  went  down  to  the  right  of  the  stage,  and  like 
a  wild  thing  I  flew  down  to  the  left.  The  gentleman 
appeared  before  the  curtain — silence  fell.  He 
coughed  and  glanced  anxiously  across  to  where  I 
stood — bowed — regretted  appearing  as  an  apologist 
— er — er,  but  owing  to  (faint  mumble,  then  the 
clearer  words)  being  too  much  overworked — (the 
curtain  trembled,  he  glanced  apprehensively  again 
where  I  was,  and  saw  a  long,  nervous  hand  drawing 
it  back  and  a  foot  already  extended  for  the  step 
forward,  gave  a  sort  of  gurgle  of  dismay  and  con- 
tinued)— and — er — in  truth  the — er — company  have 
not  had  sufficient  time  for  preparation,  and  Miss 
Morris  (a  wild  glance  at  me),  feeling  the  play  suf- 
fers by  such  representation,  thinks — er — best  to  dis- 
miss the  audience  and "  And  so  went  on  ex- 
plaining about  the  return  of  money  or  exchange  of 
tickets,  etc.,  and  finally  stammered  his  way  off. 

For  a  moment  the  people  sat  quite  still — then  a 
lady  in  a  box  drew  a  long  breath  and  said  to  her 
escort:  "  Well,  I  think  she's  a  brave  woman!  "  The 
audience  rose  and  slowly  went  out. 


1 62  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

My  husband  met  me  with  the  big  cloak.  "  Don't 
wait  to  dress,"  he  said,  "  you  are  ghastly!  Get  home 
as  quickly  as  you  can.  The  maid  will  attend  to  every- 
thing." 

As  I  passed  there  w^as  no  longer  a  crowd  about 
me — all  held  aloof.  Two  persons  near  the  door  to 
whom  I  said  "  Good-night "  seemed  not  to  hear  me. 
A  woman  crowded  past  me  with  quite  unnecessary 
rudeness,  and  I  realised  with  a  pang  that  so  far  as 
theatrical  Boston  was  concerned  I  was  a  fallen  idol. 
Now,  what  would  critical  Boston  do  to  me,  I  won- 
dered dully.  My  husband  and  my  agent  went  out 
to  visit  popular  resorts  and  the  newspaper  offices,  to 
find  out  which  way  the  wind  blew  in  this  teapot 
tempest. 

I  had  a  woman  friend  with  me  that  week,  and  as 
we  sat  at  our  little  supper-table  and  I  merely  crum- 
bled bread  by  the  side  of  my  plate,  she  begged  me  to 
go  to  my  room  and  to  bed — so  I  withdrew.  But  how 
could  I  go  to  bed  when  I  could  not  say  my  prayers; 
and  how  could  I  say  my  prayers  when  every  time  I 
closed  my  eyes,  angry,  resentful  faces  crowded  be- 
fore me,   and  instead  of  repeating  the  comforting 

words  beginning,  "  Our  Father "  with  dismay  I 

heard  my  own  voice  mechanically  muttering  again 
and  again,  "I  thought  I  was  right! — I  thought  I 
was  right!  "? 

Dejectedly  I  gave  up  the  effort  and  softly  paced 
back  and  forth,  until  I  heard  my  agent  come  in  and 
speak  to  my  friend.  As  I  entered  he  was  saying  that 
a  cabal  was  forming  to  give  me  a  rough  greeting  at 


1 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  163 

my  next  appearance,  as  punishment  for  coming  from 
New  York  to  insult  Boston's  favourite  actors. 

"  Hisses!  "  I  sat  down  suddenly  and  went  red  with 
shame  at  the  mere  thought  of  being  hissed.  At  last  I 
said:  "Well,  what  is  to  be  will  be!  I'm  glad  you 
warned  me." 

Then  he  told  me  the  play  was  called  for  rehearsal 
next  morning — dead  letter  perfect — without  the 
slightest  aid  from  the  prompter.  The  papers  would 
announce  the  performance  for  to-morrow  night,  and 
— and,  well,  a  couple  of  reporters  had  suggested  in 
a  friendly  way,  that  it  would  be  just  as  well  for  me 
to  be  taken  sick  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  so  spare 
myself  an  unpleasant  experience. 

"  What!  "  I  cried;  "  back  down — run  away?  I'll 
act  that  part  if  I  have  to  lean  on  the  arm  of  a  police- 
man!" 

My  husband  then  came  in.  He  had  visited  several 
newspaper  offices,  and  had  found  them  all  greatly 
interested,  all  courteous.  If  a  trifle  reserved.  One 
critic  had  said:  "  She  has  done  to-night  what  should 
have  been  done  earlier  in  the  season.  She  has  given 
these  people  a  much-needed  lesson,  all  of  which  I 
shall  say  in  to-morrow's  paper." 

Like  a  bullet  from  a  revolver,  I  shot  into  my  own 
room,  "  Oh !  "  I  cried,  as  I  threw  off  my  robe  de 
chambre,  and  "  Oh!  "  again  at  the  thought  that  one 
person  had  a  good  word  for  me,  even  though  he  mis- 
understood the  motive  of  my  action.  And  such  is  the 
power  of  a  kind  word  that  I  clasped  my  hands,  and 
kneeling  again  with  a  heart  that  seemed  to  soar  up- 


1 64  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

ward  like  a  bird,  whispered  the  blessed,  comforting 
"  Our  Father,"  and  not  one  frowning  face  distracted 
my  attention. 

Tuesday,  more  like  a  ghost  than  a  woman,  I 
agonised  silently  till  evening;  then  went  to  the 
theatre.  The  house  filled  slowly.  While  dressing  I 
heard  the  piteous  tale  of  the  lady  who  desired  to  be 
released  from  her  part  because  she  would  have  to 
share  the  hissing  meant  for  me,  and  it  would  surely 
kill  her. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  believe  there's  an  au- 
dience in  America  that  could  be  driven  into  hissing 
a  woman."  Brave  words;  but  oh,  what  a  sick  fear 
lay  deep  in  my  heart ! 

Another  who  was  sure  of  the  hissing  was  Mr. 
Lothian,  whose  kind  heart  prompted  him  to  make  an 
effort  to  save  me,  as  he  said  to  my  manager:  "  Don't 
let  her  go  on.  Say  she's  sick — Lord  knows  she  looks 
it.  Say  she's  broken  her  leg  or — or  swallowed  a 
toothbrush;  anything! — but  don't  let  her  go  on  the 
stage." 

As  I  came  to  take  my  place  for  the  first  act,  one 
single  person  answered  my  "  Good-evening,"  she 
who  played  Miss  Osborne.  I  had  been  told  that  many 
of  last  night's  people  were  here  again,  and  I  saw  that 
the  same  parties  occupied  the  stage-boxes.  I  would 
not  like  to  live  through  many  moments  like  that  last 
one  preceding  my  entrance,  when  I  was  bracing  my- 
self for  a  calm  acceptance  of  the  worst. 

I  entered,  and  once  more  faced  critical  Boston. 
With  clenched  hands  I  stood  silently  in  the  doorway, 


I 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  165 

my  nails  cut  through  the  tips  of  my  gloves,  and  then 
short,  sharp,  rather  scattering,  came  a  round  of  ap- 
plause. I  saw  Mr.  Lothian  turn  in  his  chair  and 
cast  an  amazed  glance  at  the  house.  There  had  been 
no  kindness,  no  warmth  in  that  greeting;  It  was  like 
a  dash  of  water  in  the  face — never  yet  have  I  misread 
my  audience.  I  understood  it  then.  "  You  are  on 
trial,"  it  said;  "  but  Boston  is  not  to  be  rushed.  You 
shall  have  justice — never  fear." 

It  was  all  so  different  from  last  night — from  that 
almost  affectionate  welcome — that  I  could  have  cried 
like  a  great  baby;  but  my  head  went  up  with  a  jerk, 
in  grave  acceptance  of  their  terms.  My  future  hung 
upon  Boston's  verdict — let  the  trial  go  on  1 

The  first  act  thawed  them  a  bit.  The  second — 
dear  God,  were  ever  mouth  and  throat  parched  like 
that  before — was  ever  body  shaken  by  such  quiver- 
ing nerves?  Oh,  I  thought,  will  Boston  misunder- 
stand me,  too,  and  think  I  have  insulted  where  I 
meant  only  to  honour  her?  With  wet  temples  I  lis- 
tened. The  scene  with  the  children  was  over,  and  the 
lines  had  been  correctly  given.  My  card  was  then 
handed  to  Belin — the  crucial  moment  had  arrived! 

Yes,  truly,  for  I  was  on  the  stage,  silently  facing 
my  last  night's  foe  who  had  worked  me  such  fell 
disaster.  The  stillness  of  the  house  was  intense.  Our 
scene,  starting  with  the  ordinary  conventionalities 
of  Introduction  by  letter,  led  rapidly  to  horror- 
stricken  recognition  of  the  supposed  dead  Fernande 
in  the  living  Sarah  Multon,  whose  frantic  story  of 
the  treachery  practised  against  her,  of  the  fatalities, 


1 66  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

errors,  and  of  the  anguish  borne,  wrung  unwilling 
sympathy  from  the  weak  old  man,  as  incapable  of 
resisting  her  entreaties  as  he  was  of  ignoring  her  mad 
threats. 

But  this  was  another  being,  this  bewildered, 
shocked  old  gentleman,  who  neither  shuffled  nor 
stammered  malapropos  remarks,  nor  grew  untidy  and 
dishevelled.  I  was  free  then — free !  I  need  no  longer 
watch  lest  he  went  to  the  wrong  side  and  threw  out 
someone  else  by  doing  so.  Everyone  knew  w^hat  to 
say,  and  said  it.  Mathilde  walked  lightly,  smilingly, 
on  the  edge  of  the  crater;  De  la  Tour  was  eloquent; 
the  children  were  joyous,  mischievous,  natural;  the 
servant  was  prompt  to  the  instant.  At  last  I  could 
fling  the  weight  of  the  whole  play  from  off  my  over- 
burdened shoulders.  I  had  but  one  part  to  play  now 
— Sarah  Million — and  I  played  it  to  the  last  ounce 
of  my  strength,  to  the  last  fibre  of  nerve — played  it 
as  if  a  soul  were  the  stake,  not  the  favour  of  a  city — 
"  whirling  like  a  lightning-charged  grey  tempest 
through  the  act,"  as  one  critic  worded  it  the  next 
morning.  The  curtain  fell.  The  thud  of  its  striking 
was  followed  by  a  burst  of  applause,  long  and  loud. 

"  Clear  for  Miss  Morris's  call,"  shouted  the 
prompter.  "  Clear  quick !  "  Everyone  ran  helter- 
skelter  to  leave  the  stage  bare. 

"  No !  no  !  "  I  cried.  "  Hold  that  curtain — hold  it, 
I  say!  Call  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  act!  Oh, 
do  be  quick!  You?  Why,  of  course  you,  Belui — 
Mathilde — the  children — Maurice!  Where  on  earth 
is  the  maid?  Hurry — that  call  will  be  dead!  " 


A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  167 

I  had  them  at  last — Belin  on  my  left,  Mathilde  on 
my  right,  and  the  others  stretched  out  on  each  side. 
I  signalled — the  curtain  began  to  rise — the  applause 
began  to  strengthen  slightly.  But  when  the  curtain 
was  about  knee  high,  and  all  that  long  line  of  skirts 
and  trouser  legs  was  seen,  with  characteristic  swiftness 
they  in  front  understood  this  public  acknowledgment 
of  good  work  done,  and  one  mighty  roar  of  applause 
greeted  us,  such  as  made  the  stage  tremble  beneath 
our  feet.  The  curtain  fell  only  to  rise  again.  This 
time  Mr.  S ,  much  moved,  tried  to  push  me  for- 
ward from  the  line.  I  caught  his  hand  and  led  him  in- 
stead a  step  forward  with  me.  Musicians,  actors, 
everything  that  wore  hands  beat  them  frantically  in 
the  joy  of  this  amity. 

Still  the  curtain  might  not  rest — so  at  last  I  went 
out  alone.  Grave  and  anxious  and  unsmiling,  I  stood 
and  swept  the  house  with  eager  eyes,  tier  by  tier. 
Then  suddenly  I  threw  out  my  extended,  questioning 
hands,  palms  uppermost,  and  in  answer  the  house  rose 
to  me. 

My  appeal  was  granted — I  was  forgiven — rein- 
stated— Boston's  clear  voice  had  pronounced  the 
verdict. 

After  that  the  play  made  a  triumphal  progress 
from  act  to  act,  up  to  the  last  heartbreaking  line. 
Then  once  more,  when  all  was  over,  we  faced  each 
other  with  wet  eyes  but  smiling  lips — while  the  joy 
of  that  great  greeting  shook  me  to  the  very  heart. 
Boston  had  accepted  me  indeed ! 


XI 
RACHEL 

"  They  have  made  them  a  molten  calf  and  have  worshipped 
it,  and  have  sacrificed  thereunto." 

RACHEL — is  there  any  name  in  the  world 
more  fascinating,  more  mysterious,  more 
-  magical !  There  seems  to  be  a  triumphant 
ring  even  in  its  quietest  pronunciation.  How  eagerly 
we  devour  every  printed  word  we  can  find  about 
that  small,  frail,  pale  woman,  with  inky  hair  and 
eyes;  that  mighty  daughter  of  Israel,  who  brought 
the  Christian  world  to  her  feet,  and  kept  it 
there  for  eighteen  years.  Such  genius — such  amaz- 
ing power  of  expressing  her  own  conceptions 
— such  dignity — such  grace,  were  hers !  Oh,  to 
have  seen  her;  to  have  felt  the  terror  with  which  she 
was  wont  to  chill  her  hearers !  That  has  been  my  cry 
ever  since  I  first  read  in  early  girlhood  of  the  famous 
woman  whose  childhood  days  were  spent  in  such 
bitter  poverty;  whose  dwarfed  ugliness  won  her  the 
name  of  "  The  half-starved  Monkey,"  as  she  gath- 
ered up  the  sous  her  elder  sister  sang  for  in  the  cheap 
cafes.  "  Oh,  how  dreadful!  "  I  thought,  not  under- 
standing then  that  there  was  no  humiliation  in  the  act 
to  the  small  Jewess,  only  a  joyous  satisfaction  in  see- 
ing the  copper  coins  coming  her  way.  But  it  was  only 
when  the  gifted  girl  had  won  her  first  great  triumph 

168 


RACHEL  169 

that  I  began  to  understand  and,  I  must  confess  It,  to 
hate  the  Felix  family,  whose  cupidity  was  such  that  I 
believed  they  would  not  have  hesitated  to  draw  the 
lifeblood  from  those  precious  veins,  if  they  could  have 
stamped  it  into  the  coin  of  the  realm. 

The  young  are  always  severe;  I  was  not  looking 
for  mitigating  circumstances  then;  I  did  not  pause  to 
think  how  bewildering,  how  intoxicating  must  have 
been  the  effect  of  the  sudden  transition  from  unspeak- 
able'poverty ;  from  the  society  of  the  low,  the  Igno- 
rant, the  vulgar,  to  that  of  the  educated,  the  highbred, 
the  aristocratic.  I  made  no  allowance  for  the  rapa- 
cious greed,  the  sordid  littleness  that  had  been  their  in- 
heritance from  an  itinerant  peddler  ancestry;  but  see- 
ing the  wonderful  calmness  and  dignity  with  which 
the  one  supremely  gifted  member  of  the  family  as- 
sumed the  role  of  gentlewoman,  expected  some  little 
self-control,  some  slight  semblance  of  honour  or  grat- 
itude from  the  rest  of  "  that  awful  Felix  crowd,"  as 
they  came  to  be  called  In  Paris,  and  tears  of  shamed 
sympathy  filled  my  eyes  at  that  point  when  the  Com- 
mittee of  Management,  recognising  the  hit  the  young 
actress  had  made,  sent  for  her,  recalled  her  contract 
for  four  thousand  francs  salary  and  gave  her  Instead 
a  new  one,  calling  for  eight  thousand.  A  piece  of  gen- 
erosity that  aroused  such  a  devil  of  cupidity  In 
Abraham  Felix's  mind,  that  straightway  he  made  a 
study  of  "  Le  Code  Civil,"  and  finding  to  his  joy  that 
the  contract  of  a  minor  could  be  broken,  went  with 
gleaming  eyes,  working  mouth  and  curved  fingers  to 
demand  of  the  management  terms  so  amazing,  so 


jyo  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

outrageous,  that  In  two  days  the  whole  city  was  cry- 
ing "  I'^xtortion !  "  and  "  Shame !  "  and  thereafter  re- 
ferred to  him  as  "  Papa  Felix,  the  Jew,"  and  young 
Rachel  going  to  her  famous  and  devoted  teacher  San- 
son, for  instruction  in  a  new  part,  was  met  with  a 
passionate  appeal  for  her  to  deny  the  truth  of  the 
abominable  report  that  she  had  ungratefully  and  dis- 
honourably broken  her  signed  contract  with  the  Com- 
mittee of  Management  of  the  great  theatre  he  so 
honoured.  Then  when  she  briefly  remarked  "  she  was 
a  minor  and  the  '  Code  Civil '  did  not  hold  such  to 
their  contracts,"  he  burst  into  a  very  frenzy  of  shame 
and  rage,  and  dashing  a  statuette  of  his  pupil  to  the 
floor,  declared: 

"  Your  talent  will  be  shattered  and  annihilated  like 
that  image!  "  He  told  her  he  "  taught  declamation, 
not  chicanery!  "  and  that  as  "  he  wasn't  in  the  habit 
of  associating  with  those  who  sought  the  measure  of 
their  honour  and  delicacy  within  the  limits  of  the 
'  Code  Civil,'  "  finally  drove  her  from  his  presence. 

For  her  then  the  shame  and  humiliation  of  it  all, 
and  though  she  clothed  and  fed  the  whole  family; 
though  her  younger  sisters  and  her  brother  were  being 
educated  at  her  expense — she  being,  by  way  of  edu- 
cating herself  meantime,  studying  grammar  and  his- 
tory in  particular — all  that  tender  and  loving  father 
allowed  his  daughter  for  her  own  use  was  three  hun- 
dred francs  a  month;  sixty  dollars  for  her  theatrical 
costumes,  her  private  wardrobe  and  her  pocket  money, 
a  sum  utterly  inadequate  to  her  requirements.  So  it 
is  no  wonder  she  hailed  with  joy  her  majority.  When 


RACHEL  171 

after  a  frightful  struggle  she  broke  away  from  her 
father's  thrall,  she  gave  to  the  family  all  their  apart- 
ments contained,  a  pension  to  her  father  of  twelve 
thousand  francs,  to  her  mother  for  her  own  private 
use — oh,  wise  daughter ! — four  thousand  francs,  and 
exerted  herself  to  secure  good  positions  at  high  sal- 
aries for  all  those  sisters  and  that  one  brother;  while 
she  paid  the  debts  of  one  at  least  of  the  girls  many 
times.  And  so  that  family  rapacity  that  began  with 
that  first  humiliating  extortion  by  papa,  went  on  to 
that  hideously  cruel  dash  to  America,  the  result  of 
brother  Raphael's  chimerical  illusions,  to  end  at  last 
when  the  coffin  of  the  world-honoured  woman  had 
barely  settled  in  the  grave,  in  a  public  sale  of  her 
belongings. 

"  She  had  been  exploited  for  their  benefit  to  the 
last  gasp,"  says  Madame  de  B.,  in  her  "  Memoirs  of 
Rachel,"  "  And  now  it  occurred  to  the  Children  of 
Israel,  that  something  more  might  be  made  of  her 
remains." 

"  Had  the  family  been  forced  by  poverty  to  such 
an  act,"  said  an  old  French  gentleman  to  me,  "  it 
would  have  been  a  very  painful  exhibition,  but  when 
every  member  was  amply  provided  for,  the  sale,  ad- 
vertised like  an  American  circus,  was  gross  and  dis- 
respectful beyond  belief.  Nothing  was  held  sacred — 
nothing !  Her  most  intimate  belongings,  even  her 
very  body  linen,  was  exposed  to  the  inquisitive  fingers 
and  inquiring  gaze  of  the  curious  and  the  greedy." 

Tears  filled  the  old  gentleman's  eyes  as  he  spoke  of 
this  last  effort  to  turn  public  enthusiasm  into  bright 


172  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

franc  pieces.  "  Now  and  then  through  the  crowd," 
he  continued,  "  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  Felix 
family,  watching  eagerly  how  the  auctioneer  was  ac- 
quitting himself;  or  hovering  near  some  group  of 
possible  buyers,  ready  to  throw  in  a  convincing  word 
as  to  the  genuineness  of  a  jewel  or  the  value  of  some 
bibelot.  For  a  sign  of  feeling,  for  a  flush  of  shame 
over  this  needless  desecration  one  had  to  turn  to  poor 
old  Rose,  the  dressing  maid,  who  had  seen  her  mis- 
tress rise  to  her  dizziest  height,  and  had  done  her 
loving  best  to  retard  that  mistress's  swift  descent  to 
the  tomb.  Twenty  years  of  service  had  she  given  to 
the  woman  who,  capricious,  exacting,  often  violent  to 
others,  was  to  her  trusting,  affectionate  and  grateful. 
And  sitting  in  her  skimpy  mourning  gown  and  black 
cap  by  the  side  of  the  bed  piled  with  a  small  fortune 
in  laced  underwear,  she  lifted  tired,  indignant  old 
eyes  to  his  face,  and  said  in  trembling  tones :  '  Oh, 
Monsieur  le  docteur,  it  is  an  infamy,  this  thing  you 
see  here!  All  could  have  been  sold  privately,  that 
should  have  been  sold  at  all.  But  these — these  inti- 
mate garments — these  stockings — these  chemises — 
these  slippers — oh  ! '  she  rocked  herself  back  and  forth 
and  stroked  tenderly  the  snowy  garments  piled  upon 
the  bed  at  her  side.  '  If  only  I  could  afford  to  buy 
and  keep  them  together — they  breathe  of  her  presence 
to  me.  Monsieur!  They  should  have  been  treasured 
sacredly  by  her  family,  but  this  Felix  crowd  are 
vultures  Monsieur! '  And  just  then  a  woman  reached 
out  her  hand  to  pull  a  lace-covered  petticoat  towards 
her,  when  ancient  Rose  leaned  forward  and  silently 


RACHEL  173 

fixed  upon  her  so  fierce  and  menacing  a  look,  that 
with  a  little  gasp  of  fright,  the  stranger  withdrew  her 
hand  and  hurried  away.  Ah!  "  he  concluded,  "  all  I 
could  think  of  was  some  faithful,  helpless,  old  spaniel 
bravely  displaying  its  toothless  jaws  in  a  loving  de- 
fence of  a  dead  owner — poor  old  Rose!  " 

Recalling  how  the  petty  hatred  of  Abraham  Felix 
for  Sanson  was  allowed  to  accompany  the  great  dead, 
even  to  the  grave,  he  said  to  me :  "  Thanks  to  a 
twenty-year-old  spite,  Rachel — the  greatest  actress 
France  ever  produced,  the  last  defender  of  the  classic 
drama,  the  stay  and  support  of  tragedy — went  to  her 
grave  without  one  voice  from  the  Comedie  Francaise 
being  raised  in  her  praise  or  honour;  without  one 
word  to  testify  to  the  greatness  of  the  loss  the  theatre 
had  sustained.  Streams  of  eloquence  flowed  about  the 
small  coffin,  but  the  speakers  were  famous  writers, 
not  actors.  Everyone  waited  for  the  words  of  Sanson 
— the  devoted  teacher,  who  had  been  second  only  to 
Jules  Janin  in  the  service  he  had  rendered  Rachel  in 
her  days  of  struggle;  waited  in  vain  for  him  to  come 
forward  as  the  representative  of  the  theatre  of  her 
love,  but  neither  he  nor  another  spoke  one  word  of 
affection  or  farewell  in  the  name  of  the  Comedie 
Francaise.  Paris  stood  aghast,  until  Monsieur  Empis, 
the  manager,  made  public  the  letter  of  Felix  senior, 
when  it  approved  the  action  of  the  societaires  in  re- 
senting the  insult  he  put  upon  a  comrade  loved  and 
esteemed  by  all,  whose  merit  and  priority  of  stand- 
ing in  the  company  gave  him  the  right  to  represent 
them  on  so  brave  and  important  an  occasion. 


174  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

"  So  just  as  in  that  faraway  first  breach  of  contract 
by  Felix  pere  it  was  Rachel  who  suffered  the  humilia- 
tion; so  alas,  it  was  Rachel  whose  funeral  honours 
were  shorn  of  their  chief  ornament  through  pere 
Felix's  breach  of  the  common  decencies  of  behav- 
iour !  "  And  my  old  friend  would  walk  excitedly 
about  shaking  his  ten  widely  spread  fingers  in  the  air, 
for  he  was  still  very  French  in  manner  for  all  his 
American  citizenship. 

All  my  days  I  have  had  this  undying  hunger  for 
information  about  Rachel.  She  has  all  the  fascination 
for  me  that  the  Arabian  Nights  has  had  for  the  most 
of  us.  Never  have  I  met  at  home  or  abroad  an  old 
playgoer  without  instantly  asking:  "Have  you  ever 
seen  Rachel?"  If  the  answer  is  "Yes,"  then  that 
man  or  that  woman  is  marked  for  "  the  third  degree." 
Such  examining — such  cross-examining  as  the  unfor- 
tunate is  subjected  to.  One  of  my  most  precious  finds 
was  the  elder  Dr.  Seguin  (father  of  the  late  E.  C. 
Seguin),  who  filled  my  heart  with  satisfaction  by  re- 
marking that  Rachel  shone  like  a  star  of  brilliant,  in- 
tellectual and  spiritual  life  against  the  black  cloud  of 
her  ever  sordid  family.  He  owned  pictures  that  were 
so  rare,  so  interesting,  that  Fm  afraid  that  command- 
ment that  says  "  Thou  shalt  not  covet,"  got  cracked 
a  bit.  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal,"  was  all  right  though, 
because  the  doctor  kept  the  pictures  under  double 
locks. 

Then  my  next  splendid  find  was  another  doctor,  a 
younger  man  in  a  Southern  city.  Actually  he  had 
travelled  with  my  enchantress  through  part  of  that 


4 


RACHEL  175 

fatal  American  trip.  One  day — It  had  been  raining — 
while  I  was  re-reading  the  "  Memoirs  "  and  sitting 
after  the  shower,  thinking  of  the  wonderful  power  of 
the  great  French  woman,  and  trying  to  understand 
where  her  effects  came  from,  I  noticed  a  rain-drop 
resting  on  a  leaf,  that,  clear,  trembling,  held  all  the 
wide  blue  sky  and  piled  white  clouds  In  Its  tiny  com- 
pass, and  suddenly  I  cried:  "  She,  Rachel,  must  have 
been  like  that !  With  her  frail  woman's  breast  encom- 
passing the  aspirations,  sorrows,  sins,  and  passions  of 
Humanity !  "  That  of  course  was  only  one  of  those  In- 
stinctive conclusions  that  make  women  so  amusing  to 
more  logical  men,  but  see  what  good  supporting  evi- 
dence It  found  In  Paris  but  four  months  later. 

Mademoiselle  Dinah  Felix  was  acting  still,  and  my 
efforts  to  find  In  what  play  she  was  likely  to  appear 
amused  my  French  acquaintances  greatly,  until  I  ex- 
plained my  eager  desire  to  approach  even  so  distantly 
the  great  Rachel,  when  one  said  to  me:  *'  You  will 
gain  more  through  a  meeting  with  a  certain  old  neigh- 
bour, and  I  think  a  relative  of  the  Felix  family,  than 
from  watching  Mademoiselle  Dinah,  who  is  a  very 
Indifferent  actress,  and  was  never  the  intimate  of 
Rachel,  as  were  Sarah  and  Rebecca." 

So,  trembling  with  excitement,  I  was  given  an  op- 
portunity to  transact  a  little  business  with  the  old 
Hebrew  woman  and  quite  incidentally  to  speak  the 
magic  name — Rachel.  She  was  lowly,  poor,  merce- 
nary, but  she  had  a  splendid  pride  In  her  great  sister  In 
Israel.  A  sharp  tongue,  a  memory  that  held  a  fact  as 
tenaciously  as  her  hand  held  a  coin,  and  an  immeasur- 


176  THE  LIFE    OF  A  STAR 

able  contempt  for  the  Felix  crowd — whom  she  likened 
to  leeches. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  with  her  hooped  gold  earrings 
a-tremble  and  almost  a  moisture  in  her  yellow-flecked 
old  eyes,  "  her  voice,  her  marvellous  voice !  It  ran 
along  your  nerves  like  that!  (with  a  trembling  of  her 
fingers)  So  deep,  so  grave,  so  solemn — like  the  music 
in  a  cathedral!  " 

"  And  that  hoarseness,  that  weakness  so  often 
spoken  of,"  I  asked,  "  was  that  genuine  or  was  it — 
well,  acting?  " 

The  old  woman  looked  at  me  with  a  sly,  half-closed 
eye,  as  she  answered:  "  Of  course  she  may  have  been 
exhausted  sometimes  to  the  point  of  hoarseness  and 
of  voice  failure,  but  somehow  when  a  great  scene  ar- 
rived the  great  voice  returned  to  her  in  time  and  elec- 
trified the  audience.  Such  enunciation — Madame  you 
cannot  have  heard,  no  syllable  was  ever  lost.  Sit 
where  you  would,  each  word  perfect — polished,  full 
of  meaning,  came  safely,  musically  to  your  ear. 
When  she  raged — she  was  fine !  fine  !  But  those  nights 
when  she  had  the  devil  in  her, — B-r-r-r !  when  she  had 
it  in  for  some  one — comprenez-vous?  That  is  the 
American  way  to  say  it,  eh  ?  la  haine — she  was  Rachel 
plus  Felix — and  Felix  plus  the  Devil !  And  she  make 
the  hair  to  creep  on  the  head  and  the  flesh  of  the 
goose  to  come  upon  the  arms !   B-r-r-r!  " 

Suddenly  she  threw  back  her  head,  showing  a  half 
string  of  gold  beads,  tied  tight  about  her  yellow 
throat,  and  laughed  a  contemptuous  and  knowing 
laugh.  "  How  often,  Madame,  have  you  read  of  the 


RACHEL  177 

wonderful  eyes  of  the  great  Rachel — many  times, 
eh?  How  often  have  you  read  of  them  as  flashing, 
blazing,  glistening,  lustrous?  Many  times  again,  eh? 
Well  each  time  that  was  a  lie,  of  the  imagination,  per- 
haps not  of  the  intention,  but  all  the  same  a  lie!  For 
look  you,  that  angular  little  mightiness  of  a  woman 
was  ugly,  and  knew  it,  and  was  nowhere  more  ugly 
than  in  that  most  strange  eye  of  hers.  You  know  that 
noble  brow?  Well  back,  far  back,  deep-sunken  be- 
neath it  were  the  eyes,  small,  black  opaque  and  flat- 
tened like — truly  it  has  not  a  good  sound — but  they 
were  like  the  eyes  of  a  great  serpent.  No — you  do  not 
like  that?  But  wait  now.  Can  you,  can  I,  can  another, 
look  at  a  thing  steadily,  steadily,  unwinkingly  for  a 
minute  at  a  time?  Mais  non !  non !  The  eye  it  blur, 
it  pain,  it  cry,  and  at  last  it  wink  for  rest,  for  pity  of 
itself,  eh?  But  that  dense,  cold,  black  eye  of  Rachel, 
when  there  was  rage  behind  it,  would  look  at  you  with 
an  unwinking,  unwavering  intensity  of  evil,  that 
chilled  your  blood,  dulled  your  thoughts  and  left  you 
helpless,  just  as  a  bird  is  helpless  when  the  unwinking 
serpent  eye  has  mesmerised  it." 

"  Was  there  truth  then,"  I  asked,  "  in  the  story  told 
of  the  public  crushing  of  Mademoiselle  Maxime  by 
Rachel?" 

The  old  woman  worked  the  tip  of  her  nose  as  a 
rabbit  does.  She  tapped  the  counter  with  trembling 
fingers:  "  Truth?  You  ask  it?  Dieii  de  Dieu!  Was  I 
there  then,  with  all  the  other  Jews,  or  was  I  not? 
Some  were  for  Maxime, — who  mind  you  was  hand- 
some and  not  so  bad  an  actress  either;  and  besides 


I7S  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Rachel  had  behaved  badly  toward  Paris  and  the  home 
theatre,  and  many  wanted  to  punish  her.  So  the 
Maxima  party  was  strong  and  Rachel  had  the  very 
devil's  self  pent  up  in  her  that  night.  The  Felix  crowd 
were  wild  with  fright  and  everyone  chuckled  at  sight 
of  their  faces.  It  was  a  great  night.  The  whole  city 
seemed  to  be  packed  into  the  theatre.  Maxime's  party 
applauded  and  hissed;  Rachel's  party  hissed  and  ap- 
plauded, and  so  they  yelled  and  shouted  and  clapped 
and  stamped,  until  Mary  Stuart  and  Elizabeth  met 
and  faced  each  other;  and,  Madame,  there  came  then 
a  silence  that  was  like  death !  The  audience  saw 
Rachel's  face  and  a  sigh  passed  over  the  crowded 
house — for  we  had  expected  a  struggle  to  the  death, 
mind  you.  But  that  face — Oh,  mon  Dieu ! — we  felt 
the  end  already!  The  scene  began.  Elizabeth  was 
doing  well — Rachel  as  Mary  waited,  with  her  arms 
folded,  her  sleek  head  lowered  a  little,  she  fastened 
upon  Maxime's  face  dull  black  eyes  of  such  malignant 
hate,  that  one  felt  a  chill  at  the  roots  of  the  hair. 
Elizabeth  started,  then  made  a  swift  gesture  and  went 
bravely  on,  but  she  could  not  break  away  from  the 
intensifying  power  of  the  cold  eyes  that  clung  to  her 
until  her  own  glance  met  theirs.  Then  at  the  unwink- 
ing, baleful  stare,  she  gave  a  gasp,  a  visible  trembling 
passed  over  her  whole  body.  She  spoke  and  a  hoarse- 
ness came  into  her  voice.  She  strove  desperately  to 
escape  Rachel's  unwavering  eye;  strove  in  anguish — 
spoke  again — stammered — hesitated — and  was  lost. 
Mary  Stuart's  opportunity  came  then,  but  never  in  her 
whole  life  did  Rachel  give  rein  to  such  mad  passion 


RACHEL  179 

as  on  that  night!  Paris  raved  over  her;  was  at  her 
feet  again;  Maxime  was  ruined;  but,  Madame,  a 
young  English  artist  who  sat  with  us  in  the  cheap 
places,  cried  out,  all  furious :  '  Ah,  but  that  was  dam- 
nable !  '  Eh,  bien,  perhaps  it  was,  but  that  was  the 
power  of  the  dull  black  eye  I  tell  you  of.  Sometimes 
in  the  great  moments  of  the  grand  tragedy  I  have  seen 
a  glow  come,  a  kind  of  red  smoulder,  but  never,  oh, 
never  in  the  world  the  flash,  the  blaze,  the  gleam! 
She  seemed  too,  Madame,  sometimes  far  up  above 
us  all — the  tragedy  of  all  the  earth — the  love  of  all 
lovers — the  grace  of  all  women  seemed  to  be  in  her 
own  heart  "  (Ah,  I  thought,  my  rain-drop),  "  and  it 
was  out  of  her  heart  that  she  acted  at  least  part  of 
the  time." 

Hungrily  I  listened  to  some  scraps  of  information 
about  her  costuming.  Everyone  wrote  and  raved  over 
the  exquisite  grace  with  which  she  wore  her  Greek 
draperies,  "  Merely  cast  carelessly  about  her,"  one 
critic  said,  "  yet  falling  always  in  such  statuesque 
folds."  Poor  Rose  had  another  tale  to  tell.  Every 
fold  was  arranged,  pinned,  studied  in  the  glass, 
walked  in,  studied  again,  abandoned,  another  tried 
and  yet  another,  until  the  perfect  line  and  fold  being 
attained  at  last,  they  were  secured  by  patiently  placed 
stitches.  She  was  fond  too  of  "  making  up  her  face  " 
with  almost  no  rouge  for  many  of  the  parts  she 
played,  Tisbe  being  one  of  the  few  characters  for 
which  she  dressed  brilliantly  and  painted  high. 
"  When,"  said  my  old  woman,  "  she  had  made-up 
with  an  unbroken  whiteness,  that  her  jetty  hair,  eye- 


I  So  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

brows  and  eyes  made  marble-like,  and  had  touched 
her  sensitive  lips  with  a  vivid  scarlet,  she  looked — she 
looked  like "  She  hesitated. 

I  suggested,  "like  a  beautiful  portrait  of  Trag- 
edy? For  surely  such  a  make-up,  beside  being  artis- 
tic, must  have  been  very  becoming  to  the  woman  who 
wore  It." 

The  yellow-flecked  eyes  suddenly  took  on  a  new 
sharpness.  She  laid  an  inquiring  finger  on  my  arm : 
"  You,  Madame,  is  it  possible  that  you  are  yourself  of 
the  stage?  Oiii — tant  niieuxf  I  grow  old  of  a  cer- 
tainty— I  should  have  seen.  Oh,  la/  la!  by  a  dozen 
things,  I  should  have  seen.  From  America  you  come 
— from  that  far,  sad  land,  where  the  great  Rachel 
laid  down  the  sceptre.  You,  you  cannot  have  seen 
her?  No;  I  was  sure,  and  you  are  not  even  of  her 
race,  yet  you  seek  to  know  all,  everything.  You  ques- 
tion like  the  child.  Why,  Madame?  What  think  you 
then  of  her?" 

And  from  an  extravagant  Impulse,  I  answered :  "  I 
think  her  the  mightiest  Jewess  since  the  times  of 
Miriam  and  Deborah." 

Her  old  mouth  worked  as  she  caught  my  gloved 
hand  to  her  lips,  and  said  huskily :  "  Merci — Merci!  '* 
many  times.  "  It  is  you  see  that  sometimes  I  have, 
Madame,  the  fear  that  Paris  here  forgets  a  little,  and 
It  makes  the  pain.  No?  you  think  not?  All  America 
makes  honour  to  that  memory,  you  say?  Good!  Eh? 
What,  you  do  not  admire  pere  Felix,  not  even  the 
beau  Raphael?  A-ah !  "  she  straightened  up,  gave  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction  and  then,  with  the  tone  peculiar 


RACHEL  i8i 

to  the  dealer  In  misfit  garments,  she  said:  "  Madame 
has  the  judgment  of  the  best,  and — and  doubtless 
you  are  an  artiste  of  high  standing,"  and  then  sur- 
prised me  by  taking  from  my  hand  an  old  bit  of 
metal:  "  Non,  Madame,  that  is  not  for  you!" 

"  But,"  I  remonstrated,  "  it  is  old  German  work." 

"  Non,"  she  interrupted,  "  the  placard  says  old 
German  work,  but  it  came  truly  from  across  the 
Seine.  It  is  not  for  a  woman  who  bends  the  head  to 
the  memory  of  the  great  Rachel,  whom  she  has  not 
even  seen !  " 

And  in  the  scorching  heat,  she  crossed  the  walk, 
placed  me  in  the  voiture  and  opened  my  parasol  and 
laid  my  packages  upon  my  knee — all,  with  the  man- 
ner of  one  attending  upon  an  enfeebled  Grande 
Duchesse. 

Then  the  cocher  cracked  his  whip  over  the  unim- 
pressed, heat-dried  unfortunates  between  the  shafts, 
who  slowly  got  in  motion.  We  both  glanced  back — 
both  spoke  a  last  sentence.  The  voices  were  different, 
but  my  "  Thanks,  Madame,  for  your  memories  of 
Rachel!  "  was  cut  across  by  her:  "  Thanks,  Madame, 
for  your  memory  of  Rachel !  "  and  so  with  the  great 
name  upon  our  lips  we  parted. 

One  dreary  wet  Sunday,  nearly  a  year  later,  I  lay 
in  a  hotel  room  in  Louisville  and  with  frowning 
brows  watched  Dr.  Yandell  as  he  bandaged  the  ankle 
I  had  injured  the  night  before.  The  season  was  near- 
ing  its  close  and  I  was  homesick.  In  the  great  splash- 
ing pattern  of  the  carpet  I  seemed  to  see  faces  that 


1 82  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

mocked  mc ;  the  marble  mantel  looked  like  a  tomb- 
stone. My  almost  indestructible  cheerfulness  was  giv- 
ing way  before  these  things  combined  with  pain. 
The  doctor  had  just  mentioned  some  incident  con- 
nected with  the  days  when  he  walked  the  hospital 
floors  as  a  student  in  Paris.  Paris!  I  glanced  at  him. 
Yes,  there  were  touches  of  grey  about  his  stately  head, 
he  might  perhaps, — and  swiftly  the  question,  the  in- 
evitable question  flew  from  my  lips:  "Doctor,  did 
you  ever  see  Rachel?  " 

The  quick  glint  In  his  lifted  eyes,  the  Involuntary 
tug  upon  the  bandage  answered  me  before  his  slow 
Southern  speech  could,  and  scrambling  up  upon  my 
pillows,  unrelentingly  I  wrung  the  doctor's  memory 
dry  of  everything  it  held  anent  Rachel.  He,  as  a 
young  student  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Raphael 
and  his  great  sister  by  a  ludicrous  collision  In  a  dark 
hallway.  Apologies,  laughter,  and  the  discovery  that 
they  sought  a  mutual  friend's  apartment  led  to  an  in- 
troduction. Then  followed  an  Impromptu  little  game 
of  cards  and  to  the  Intellectual  enslavement  of  young 
Yandell  by  the  reigning  queen  of  the  world  of  Art. 
In  his  opinion  the  trip  to  America  had  been  a  verita- 
ble tragedy.  Never  had  there  been  any  folly  to  equal 
the  folly  of  Raphael.  He  had  been  made  mad  by  the 
story  of  Jenny  Lind's  1,700,000  francs  earned  in 
thirty-eight  performances.  He  could  not  be  brought 
to  listen  to  reason.  He  gave  no  thought  to  Barnum, 
that  tremendous  factor  in  the  diva's  success.  He  for- 
got that  music  appeals  to  all  classes,  can  be  enjoyed  re- 
gardless of  the  language  In  which  It  Is  sung.  Forgot 


RACHEL  183 

that  tragedy  appealed  to  the  cultivated  few,  even  in 
France — there  was  no  reason  in  him.  He  had  made 
him  a  molten  calf,  and  the  golden  dazzle  of  it  blinded 
him  to  the  realities  of  life  and  common  sense. 

Rachel  had  been  most  unwilling  to  undertake  the 
expedition,  but  that  family  of  hers  conspired  against 
her.  Abraham — Raphael — Sarah — Dinah — Leah — 
mere  Felix,  all  united  in  pointing  to  the  land  of  gold. 
They  gave  her  no  peace.  Ah,  well,  all  that  is  history, 
said  the  doctor. 

"  But  oh,  could  you  have  seen  the  shame,  the 
wounded  pride,  the  silent  suffering  of  the  great 
woman,  who  found  she  had  been  made  an  instrument 
for  the  advancement  of  her  family's  interests!  " 

"Shame?"  I  exclaimed.  "Why  should  she  be 
ashamed?  " 

"  Good  God !  "  excitedly  answered  the  doctor, 
"  have  you  not  heard  of  the  inconceivable  parsimony 
of  Raphael?  Rachel  had  her  faults,  but  she  did  truly 
reverence  her  art;  but  here  in  this  country  art  was  not 
thought  of,  the  cry  was  Dollars!  Dollars!  The 
brother  who  managed  for  her  would  not  expend  one 
cent  even  to  secure  correct  properties;  and  permitted 
the  most  ludicrous  blunders  in  stage  setting  to  pass 
uncorrected,  such  as  a  flowered  carpet  covering  a 
Roman  street.  Many  a  time  the  curtain  rose  on  a 
stately  tragedy  to  the  convulsed  laughter  of  the  audi- 
ence— so  absurd  would  the  scenery  be." 

"  I  had  "  continued  the  doctor,  "  hesitated  to  pre- 
sent myself  to  Madame  in  America,  thinking  it  very 
probable  she  had  forgotten  me,  but  at  our  meeting 


iS4  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

here,  In  Louisville,  she  greeted  me  as  a  friend  and 
did  me  the  honour  to  ask  me  to  accompany  her,  for  a 
time  at  least.  You  can  imagine  with  what  willingness 
I  placed  myself  at  her  service.  But  that  family,  Good 
Heaven !  that  family  I  Jealous,  malicious,  covetous, 
they  all  were !  Quarrelsome  as  they  all  were,  yet  one 
there  was  who  terrorised  all  the  others,  including 
even  the  father  and  Rachel  herself.  In  times  of  fam- 
ily mishap  or  of  serious  illness  Sarah  was  the  de- 
voted sister  and  nurse,  but  the  moment  the  draft  upon 
her  sympathy  had  been  honoured,  she  became  a  terror. 
She  domineered  over  everyone;  she  meddled  in  every- 
thing, and  on  the  slightest  provocation  she  would 
burst  into  a  furious  rage,  using  the  argot  picked  up  in 
her  street-singing  days;  making  charges  of  theft,  of 
falsehood  and  often,  Indeed  generally,  using  her 
hands,  even  her  nails  as  freely  as  she  did  her  angry 
words. 

"  It  was  between  Raphael  and  Sarah  that  dissen- 
sions oftenest  arose.  Rachel  dreaded  such  scenes 
greatly  and  strove  to  maintain  the  peace  which  she 
had  invariably  to  purchase  with  a  gift  to  each  partici- 
pant in  the  fray.  Her  own  self-control  was  wonderful. 
She  always,  save  in  one  instance,  preserved  a  quiet 
dignity  of  manner  that  was  admirable;  but  that  one 
outburst  I  shall  never  forget. 

"  Gambling  was  as  the  breath  of  life  to  her.  You 
look  startled,  but  it  is  quite  true.  She  loved  cards  pas- 
sionately, so  did  they  all  love  them,  but  In  a  lesser 
degree.  When  she  could  not  rise  from  her  bed  she 
would  have   a  board  brought  and  laid   across   her 


RACHEL  185 

knees.  To  face  her  In  white  gown  and  delicate  lace 
cap,  frail  and  shadowed,  her  thin  fingers  deftly  ma- 
nipulating the  cards,  was  like  gambling  with  a  phan- 
tom. I  had  forbidden  playing  for  high  stakes  because 
the  Intense  excitement  engendered  was  Injurious  to 
her.  She  had  given  me  a  droll  look,  but  smiling  In- 
dulgently, had  said  '  Very  well,  she  would  play  for 
pennies.  If  I  so  commanded,'  a  form  of  speech  that 
covered  me  with  confusion,  for  I  was  far  too  young 
to  venture  to  command  a  Rachel  even  for  her  own 
good. 

"  Well  on  the  day  of  which  I  speak,  she  and  a  sister 
were  playing  at  the  bedside.  Rose  admitted  me  to  the 
room  and  with  a  quick  glance  in  their  direction,  shook 
her  head  disapprovingly.  No  wonder.  Rachel  was 
trembling  violently,  but  her  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  stare 
of  such  concentrated  anger  that  I  felt  a  chill  creep 
over  me.  On  her  side  of  the  board  about  a  dozen 
copper  pennies  lay;  on  Sarah's  side  there  must  have 
been  thirty  or  forty.  Rachel  never  greeted  me,  never 
winked  even,  but,  in  that  unbroken  stare,  said  very 
low :  '  Go  on.  Mademoiselle,  you  have  a  very  remark- 
able luck  to-day !  ' 

"In  high,  angry  tones,  Sarah  answered:  'Don't 
you  try  to  look  me  down,  Madame  Greatness!  ' 

"  '  Play!  '  commanded  Rachel. 

"  And  then  It  was  all  like  the  flash,  the  crash  of  a 
volley  of  musketry,"  said  the  doctor,  throwing  out 
his  hands  helplessly,  "  and  before  I  could  cross  the 
room  there  came  the  words:  'Cheat!  Thief!'  and 
the  board  was  flying  through  the  air,  pennies  were 


1 86  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

everywhere  !  Sarah  was  in  the  middle  of  the  chamber; 
the  bedclothes  w^re  flung  aside,  and  with  the  leap  of 
a  tigress  Rachel  flung  herself  upon  her  sister  and 
caught  at  her  throat,  and  eight  small  red  dents 
showed  where  her  fingers  struck  before  her  strength 
fled  and  she  sank  back  unconscious  into  my  arms. 

*'  I  never  heard  such  vituperation  from  human  lips 
as  poured  from  Sarah  Felix's  as  I  carried  her  sister 
back  to  her  bed.  But  when  she  saw  the  still  form,  the 
bluish  lips,  she  flung  herself  beside  her,  rubbing  the 
limp  hands,  breathing  into  her  mouth,  forcing  brandy 
down  her  throat,  and  doing  it  all  like  a  woman  de- 
mented with  grief.  Then  when  at  last  breath  had  re- 
turned to  the  patient,  and  a  long  attack  of  coughing 
had  been  reckoned  with,  Sarah,  tired,  dishevelled, 
stood  looking  down  on  her  exhausted  sister  and  re- 
marked resentfully:  '  And  all  that,  mind  you,  because 
I  cheated  her  out  of  a  few  pennies — there's  a  sister 
for  you.  Monsieur.' 

"  And  so  I  learned  that  Rachel  had  as  her  birth- 
right the  violent  temper  of  the  Felix  family,  and 
surely  she  deserved  credit  for  so  nearly  conquering 
It.  She  saw  every  doctor  who  was  suggested  to  her, 
and  one  and  all  they  said:  '  Rest — rest  now — imme- 
diately, and  In  this  balmy  air  you  will  probably  re- 
cover.' Everyone  avoided  the  word  '  lungs,'  all  spoke 
of  the  '  larynx,'  until  In  Charleston  a  French  doctor 
boldly  Informed  her  her  lungs  were  affected.  Then 
she  began  to  realise  her  danger. 

"  '  I  ought  to  rest,'  she  would  say,  piteously  to 
Raphael,  whose  face  would  become  sullen  In  a  mo- 


RACHEL  187 

ment.  When  she  coughed  the  girls  would  shrug  their 
shoulders  and  tap  their  feet  impatiently.  They  made 
her  feel  that  she  was  injuring  them  greatly.  They 
sighed  and  moaned  over  the  '  failure  she  had  made.' 
Though  the  receipts  exceeded  anything  they  had 
ever  played  to  in  Europe,  they  yet  fell  so  far  below 
Raphael's  mad  dreams  and  expectations  that  the 
family  made  most  piteous  outcries." 

The  doctor  thought  that,  from  being  with  her  all 
the  time,  they  failed  to  perceive  the  change  in  her  ap- 
pearance, but  the  rest  of  the  company,  who  had 
reached  Charleston  before  her,  were  startled  at  the 
alteration  of  only  those  few  days.  It  would  be  too 
painful  to  repeat  the  doctor's  story  of  her  eager 
watching  for  a  fairly  comfortable  day,  in  which  to 
write  letters  to  her  mother  and  her  sons — brave, 
bright,  hopeful  letters.  Of  her  silent  despair  on  the 
bad  days  when  the  cough  gave  her  no  rest,  and  the 
pain  beneath  the  shoulders  tortured  her;  while  a 
mighty  homesickness  wrung  her  very  soul  with  an- 
guish. She  was  pulled  one  way  by  the  doctors;  pulled 
the  other  way  by  her  family.  Oh,  poor  Rachel !  Lis- 
ten to  her  own  words,  written  even  in  the  heyday  of 
her  power: 

"  My  success  is  wonderful,  but  purchased  at  what 
a  price.  The  price  alas,  of  my  health  and  life.  The 
intoxication  of  applause  passes  into  my  blood  and 
burns  it  up.  The  public,  the  world  see  the  artist,  but 
they  forget  the  woman !  " 

Was  it  not  Ouida  who  said:  "The  laurel  hurts 
when  it  grows  from  the  tender  breast  of  a  woman  I  " 


1 88  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Next  to  the  joy  of  having  seen  the  famous  actress  I 
would  count  the  joy  of  owning  a  certain  picture,  one 
of  those  Dr.  Seguin  so  wisely  kept  under  double 
locks.  A  tiny  thing,  but  oh,  the  delight  of  it.  There 
is  the  Rachel  of  one's  imagination.  Yet  young  in  all 
her  hope,  her  just  springing  pride,  her  vaulting  ambi- 
tion. She  had  greatly  desired  to  play  Phedre,  but  had 
been  told  she  was  too  small  for  the  part.  She  was 
highly  indignant,  and  Alfred  de  Musset,  the  poet, 
the  beau,  the  beloved  of  George  Sand,  who  had  just 
written  his  famous  "  Nuit  de  Mai,"  one  night  after 
Tancred,  had  returned  home  with  Rachel;  had  supped 
with  the  family  and  afterward  she  had  eagerly  re- 
quested him  to  listen  to  her  reading  of  the  great  part 
of  Phedre.  And  in  this  wonderful  little  picture  these 
two  gifted  children  of  France,  ever  young,  ever 
triumphant,  face  each  other  at  the  table,  where  the 
few  dishes  are  pushed  aside;  where  one  guttering 
candle  has  been  reinforced  by  another  hastily  thrust 
into  a  wine  bottle;  where  Rachel,  in  a  loose  sacque, 
with  a  cap  formed  of  a  foulard  handkerchief  upon 
her  hair,  sits,  the  book  held  in  one  hand,  while  the 
other  is  stretched  out  in  declamatory,  illuminating  ges- 
ture. And  De  Musset  leans  his  folded  arms  upon  the 
shabby  table  and  gazes  as  at  an  inspired  young 
priestess. 

This  is  not  the  woman  of  whom  afterward  it  was 
said:  "She  seeks  not  glory,  but  gold," — this  is  the 
aspiring,  passionate,  young  student;  this  is  the  girl 
who  calmly  passed  from  her  sordid  home  into  the 
drawing-rooms  of  the  greatest  aristocrats  of  France, 


RACHEL  189 

and  by  her  modest  self-possession  and  gentle  dignity 
astonished  and  charmed  all  who  met  her. 

I  gazed  and  gazed  at  the  small  picture  and  sud- 
denly a  thought  came  to  me:  "  Dr.  Seguin,"  I  said, 
"  George  Sand  and  Rachel  disliked  each  other  in- 
tensely did  they  not?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  never  could  find  a 
satisfactory  reason  for  that  dislike — a  cause." 

I  laughed,  and  putting  my  finger  on  De  Musset, 
I  asked:  "Is  not  this  the  cause?"  An  amused,  al- 
most mocking,  look  came  into  his  face:  "Well, 
well!  leave  a  woman  to  divine  a  thing.  Now  Paris 
generally  thought  that  George  Sand  was  piqued  be- 
cause Rachel  would  not  accept  a  play  of  hers,  and 
yet  I  remember  now,  George  Sand  always  spoke  gen- 
erously of  Rachel,  while  Rachel  was  ever  bitter  and 
satirical  in  her  comments  on  the  writer." 

"  Naturally,"  I  remarked,  "  as  Sand  was  strong 
enough  to  hold  her  poet  at  her  side  and  defeat  was 
ever  bittter  to  the  actress." 

Again  I  returned  to  the  study  of  the  picture  where 
the  poet  of  France  sits  in  wrapt  attention  opposite 
Rachel,  pale,  slight,  gifted  with  the  divine  power, 
the  perfect  tact,  the  wondrous  grace,  that  won  her  the 
allegiance  of  the  most  accomplished  men  in  France, 
the  most  illustrious  in  the  literary  world,  the  most 
eminent  statesmen  and  most  talented  politicians. 
This  is  the  Rachel  that  creates  the  glamour,  that  wins 
the  love,  that  fires  the  imagination.  This  is  the  ac- 
tress that  raised  the  people  to  her  level,  never  sink- 
ing her  art  to  them — Rachel,  artiste  as  we  wish  to 


190  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

remember  her  before  the  family  had  forced  her 
attention  to  the  golden  mirage  that  dazzled  their 
own  eyes;  before  they  had  injected  the  poison  of 
avarice  into  her  veins.  This  girl  still  has  nobility, 
pride,  enthusiasm,  courage! 

The  tears  came  swiftly  to  my  eyes,  for  In  the  dim, 
dim  background,  I  had  just  caught  sight  of  a  fat  old 
woman,  asleep  in  a  chair — mere  Felix,  of  course  I 
"  Oh,"  I  cried,  "  she  can't  escape  them  even  here!  " 

The  doctor  looked  over  my  shoulder  and  quoted 
sarcastically:  "  They  have  made  them  a  molten  calf 
and  have  worshipped  it,"  while  I,  wet-eyed,  added: 
"And  have  sacrificed  thereunto,"  and  was  silly  enough 
to  bend  my  head  and  press  my  lips  to  the  pictured 
face  of  the  great  Rachel! 


XII 
THE  MORMON  BANQUO 

I  WAS  In  New  York  in  a  mad  pursuit  of  Santa 
Claus,  and  I  had  been  cheated  by  a  cab  driver. 
I  knew  it  and  he  knew  I  knew  it — which  was  a 
comfort;  but  when,  tired  and  hungry,  I  faced  home- 
ward, rather  than  stand  and  deliver  a  second  time,  I 
said,  "  I  will  take  my  life  in  my  hands  along  with  my 
parcels,  and  I  will  clamber  into  one  of  those  cars 
where  there  is  always  room  '  up  front,'  and  I  will  cling 
to  the  life  line,  if  I  can  reach  a  strap  ";  and  all  this  1 
did  until  a  tall  man  wearing  the  wide-brimmed  black 
felt  hat  that  finds  favour  in  the  Far  West,  rose  and 
gravely  unhooked  me  from  the  life  line,  placed  me 
in  his  former  seat  and  then  piled  my  parcels  in  a  neat 
little  barricade  about  me.  As  I  lifted  grateful  eyes 
and  began  a  murmur  of  thanks  I  met  a  glance  of 
tense  inquiry  and — and,  yes,  a  look  of  full  recogni- 
tion. I  paused  and  my  brow  began  to  knit  helplessly. 
"  Well,"  he  asked,  removing  his  hat,  "  you  can't 
make  me  out — you  can't  place  me,  eh?"  But  just 
then  the  great  curved  scar  high  on  his  forehead 
prompted  me  so  plainly  that  I  was  able  to  answer, 
"Your  name?  No;  I  can't  make  that  out — I've 
lost  it,  but  I  can  place  you  at  a  late  hour  of  the  after- 
noon, In  a  very  fine  shop  for  very  beautiful  things  in 
far  Salt  Lake  City,"  and  gave  him  my  hand  in  greet- 
ing. 

191 


192  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

"  A-ah !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  but  you  have  a  remark- 
able memory."  And  I  wanted  to  answer,  "  A-ah  you 
wear  a  remarkable  scar."  He  bent  his  tall  figure 
and  peered  anxiously  out  at  the  street  numbers,  then, 
reassured,  he  spoke  again: 

"  I  wouldn't  ask  this  question  of  anyone  else,  but, 
as  your  memory  seems  so  exceptional,  do  you — that 
is,  is  there  anything  interesting  going  on  at  Washing- 
ton just  now  that  recalls  our  conversation  in  Salt 
Lake  City?" 

I  thought  hard  for  a  moment.  Salt  Lake — the 
great  Mormon  city?  Washington — the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment; army,  navy,  Congress?  "  Oh,"  I  exclaimed, 
"  Mr.  Smoot !   Do  you  mean  the  Mormon  Senator?  " 

He  laughed  a  laugh  that  turned  many  eyes  in  his 
direction.  "  Ah,"  he  cried,  "  confess  now  that  you 
took  a  needless  amount  of  salt  with  the  statements 
I  made — the  arguments  I  advanced  that  day?  And 
admit  that  certain  things  have  occurred  within  a  year 
that  go  far  to  prove  the  truth  of  my  assertion  that 
in  Mormondom  polygamy  and  blood  atonement  will 
not  down?  " 

"  Like  Banqiio's  ghost,"  I  smiled.  But  he  smiled 
not  at  all,  and  went  on.  "  You  jest,  but  you  speak 
truth  all  the  same.  The  JVIormon  Banquo's — yes,  the 
ghost  was  a  pretty  powerful  factor  in  the  downfall 
of  Macbeth,  I  believe,  and  more  feared  than  a  dozen 
living — er — what  the  dickens  is  the  word?  " 

"  Thanes?  "  I  suggested. 

"That's  it!  Queer  sort  of  title,  too.  Well,  if  I 
knew   no   more   about   Mormons   than    I    do   about 


THE  MORMON  BANQUO  193 

Thanes  I'd  keep  still,  like  Br'er  Rabbit;  but  this  is 
only  the  second  time  I've  been  out  of  Salt  Lake  in 
twenty-six  years,  so  I  know  Mormonism  pretty  well 
— its  good  qualities  and  its  bad  ones.  Clever  people, 
yes,  but  not  at  all  American.  They  love  Utah,  but 
not  the  United  States.  Instinctively  they  secretly 
range  themselves  against  the  government;  their  for- 
bears were  inimical,  too.  No  other  country  in  the 
world  would  allow  a  festering  sore  on  the  body  politic 
to  spread  as  this  is  doing  without  an  effort  being 
made  to  prevent,  to  heal,  or  to  eradicate  it." 

Again  I  put  in  a  frivolous  word.  "  Wait  until 
woman  as  trained  nurse  discovers  this  threatened  in- 
fection, and  she  will  call  upon  the  surgeons  to  do  their 
duty." 

"  Well,  God  haste  the  day!  "  he  said.  "  You  only 
laugh,  but  all  the  same,  woman  is  the  natural  enemy 
of  Mormonism.  Mark  my  words — this  Mormon 
Banquo  will  not  down,  and  it  will  eventually  be  the 
hand  of  the  American  woman  that  will  collar  the  neck 
and  trim  the  claws  of  the  great  Utah  Panther  that, 
guarded  by  the  natural  barricades  of  desert  waste  and 
mountain  fastness,  has  worked  its  savage  will  with- 
out interference.  Ah,  you  think  me  a  crank — I  can 
see  it  in  your  face." 

I  laughed  a  trifle  uncomfortably,  for  if  anyone 
ever  does  read  your  thought  it's  bound  to  be  the  one 
you  would  prefer  to  keep  it  from.  But  I  re- 
sponded:— "  You  shouldn't  object  to  the  term.  Think 
what  useful  people  cranks  are.  But  for  them  we 
might  settle  down  into  the  dull  content  that  means 


194  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

stolidity.  You  see,  cranks  stir  us  up  to  that  divine 
discontent  that  leads  to  effort  and  improved  condi- 
tions." 

"Oh,"  he  cried;  "here's  my  street!  Good-bye! 
Next  time  you  come  to  Salt  Lake  I'd  like  to  bring  my 
wife  and  daughter  to  call.  Then  you  will  know  what 
cranks  really  are.  They  are  devoted  to  Mormon 
women,  but  detest  Mormon  men.  Good-bye !  "  and 
my  nameless  friend  was  off,  rushing  toward  the  depot, 
while  I,  staring  through  the  windows,  seemed  to  see 
the  strange,  turtle-backed  Tabernacle,  the  peaks  and 
points  of  that  pretentious  temple,  that,  like  a  bottom- 
less well,  swallows  unceasingly  good  Mormon  money, 
yet  is  never  quite  completed — for  mentally  I  was  in 
Salt  Lake,  not  in  New  York. 

Then  suddenly  rose  in  my  memory  the  cold,  calm 

face  and  woful  eyes  of  Mrs.  P ,  the  polygamus 

wife,  who  had  been  one  of  those  "  put  away "  in 
obedience  to  the  new  law.  I  remembered  how  I  had 
said  to  her: — "Your  religion  is  a  difficult  one  to 
understand,  is  it  not?" 

"  Far  from  it,"  she  replied  with  intense  bitterness. 
"  Pay  and  obey — there  you  have  the  Mormon  re- 
ligion; and  for  a  certain  class  of  believers,  it  is  emi- 
nently satisfactory,  for  if  they  pay  readily  and  obey 
silently  they  are  free  to  do  pretty  much  as  they  please 
with  all  other  laws,  and  they  will  never  be  called  to 
account  for  any  wrongdoing  outside  the  Church." 

"  But,"  I  said,  somewhat  sharply,  "  you  were  not 
born  to  the  faith;  you  were  a  convert.  It  is  the  re- 
ligion you  yourself  accepted." 


THE  MORMON  BANOUO  195 

One  quick  flash  came  into  the  weary  eyes.  "  Oh, 
no — Oh,  no !  This  Is  not  the  religion  I  accepted — not 
the  religion  of  peace  and  brotherly  love  and  holiness 
that  was  preached  to  us  In  rural  England.  There  are 
no  better  missionaries  on  earth  than  the  Mormons. 
They  are  most  carefully  selected,  then  most  carefully 
trained  for  their  lifework.  They  must  be  men  of  a 
certain  dignified  presence,  of  suave  and  persuasive 
manner,  with  a  great  flow  of  language.  Along  with 
these  speakers  there  is  Invariably  an  accompanying 
elder,  who  attends  to  all  the  financial  matters.  Each 
is  a  specialist,  so  together  their  work  is  well  done. 
Do  you  think  the  word  '  polygamy '  is  even  breathed 
to  those  gatherings  of  women,  most  of  whom  have 
found  life  hard  and  ugly? 

"  The  only  '  blood  atonement '  that  is  mentioned 
then  Is  that  of  our  Master  and  Saviour.  Oh,  if  you 
could  only  hear  them  describe  heaven  on  earth  In  this 
ZIon  City  of  Salt  Lake,  where  sin  is  unknown,  where 
all  live  In  innocent,  loving  brotherhood  and  work 
to  the  honour  of  God  and  His  prophets !  The  religion 
I  accepted  was  a  peaceful,  sinless  serving.  No,  no 
shadow  is  allowed  to  fall  across  a  convert's  faith  and 
enthusiasm  until  she  has  emigrated  and  reached  the 
Mormon  country.  Then  she  faces  the  Endowment 
House,  polygamy  begins  to  coil  around  her,  and, 
cringing  before  the  blood  atonement  terror,  she  be- 
comes that  soulless  thing,  a  woman  whose  only  hope 
of  heaven  lies  In  being  sealed  to  some  male  Mor- 
mon!" 

Then  a  swift  colour  came  into  her  cheek,  while  in  a 


196  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

perfectly  even  tone  she  continued: — "  Oh,  it  will  be 
no  trouble — I  was  walking  in  that  direction  myself." 

I  was  utterly  at  sea,  but  somehow  managed  to  say: 
"  Thank  you  very  much."  She  glanced  significantly 
then  at  a  woman  in  shabby  black  who  loitered  near 
us,  looking  into  the  shop  windows.  "  It  is  the  church 
system,"  she  explained.  "  I'm  '  cold '  in  the  faith. 
I'm  seen  walking  with  a  Gentile,  a  travelling  woman 
— maybe,  by  chance,  I'm  trying  to  leave  town." 

I  shivered.    "  Will  they  question  her  about  you?  " 

She  sneered.  "  Oh,  better  than  that — they  will 
question  me.  Have  I  seen  her  lately,  and  with 
whom?  If  I  say  '  No,'  they  will  enjoy  the  very  re- 
finement of  espionage  in  making  me  condemn  myself. 
But  I  shall  say,  '  Let  me  see — y-yes,  I  think  I  saw 
Sister  Brown  the  day  I  was  showing  the  Gentile 
woman  to  a  store.'  " 

"And  then?" 

"  Well,  then,  Sister  Brown  will  receive  praise  for 
her  exact  report,  and  I  shall  be  more  suspected  than 
ever;  so  we  all  spy,  one  upon  another." 

I  had  done  most  of  my  Christmas  shopping  in  San 
Francisco,  but  now  found  myself  three  gifts  short, 
and  on  Friday  afternoon  of  that  week  I  went  out  to 
see  what  I  could  find  that  was  pretty,  and  so  wan- 
dered into  the  handsome  shop  of  the  man  who  had 
recognised  me  just  now.  Nothing  is  more  conducive 
to  sudden  confidences  between  strangers  than  the  dis- 
covery of  a  taste  in  common.  So  in  our  mutual  ad- 
miration for  two  or  three  really  fine  Intaglios,  which 
in  twelve  or  fifteen  years  of  exhibition  had  never  won 


THE  MORMON  BANOUO  197 

a  glance  ot  appreciation,  the  proprietor  expanded. 
He  was  a  resident  Gentile — I  was  a  visiting  Gen- 
tile. We  met  in  the  great  Mormon  city  of  Salt  Lake. 
There  could  be  but  one  result — a  talk  on  Mormonism, 
In  which  eager  conversation  developed  Into  the  per- 
sonal confidences  of  a  man  who  had  been  forced  by 
physical  causes  to  live  in  this  land,  and  who  for 
twenty  odd  years  had  neighboured  with  the  Mormon 
people.  When  I  ventured  the  remark  that,  to  me,  an 
utter  outsider,  it  always  seemed  that  the  greatest 
enemies  of  this  body  of  people  were  their  leaders,  he 
exclaimed : — "  There,  you  have  crowded  the  whole 
business  into  a  nutshell.  The  Mormon  missionary 
seeks  the  agricultural  people,  the  slow,  honest,  sober, 
well  meaning,  who  in  gratitude  for  escaping  hard- 
ships, military  service,  etc.,  gladly  pay  heavy  tithes 
to  the  Church.  But  in  the  case  of  the  clever,  brainy 
man,  the  Mormon  Church  makes  direct  appeal, 
either  to  his  ambition,  his  craving  to  exercise  personal 
power  over  others,  or  to  his  lust." 

"  Strong,  rapacious,  cruel  men  rise  high  in  this 
Church,  the  very  breath  of  whose  life  Is  hypocrisy.  It 
was  three  years  before  they  gave  up  all  hope  of 
making  a  Mormon  of  me,  so  I  know  what  I  am  talk- 
ing about.  These  people  assume  the  attitude  of  mar- 
tyrs and  declare  they  are  persecuted  for  religion's 
sake.  In  this  land  of  religious  liberty  why  need  there 
be  secrecy  about  one's  faith  ?  Secrecy  implies  either 
fear  or  evil  intent.  Why,  then,  does  the  Mormon 
Church  demand  of  a  newcomer  first  of  all  silence,  ab- 
solute obedience  and  the  oath  to  avenge  the  blood  of 


198  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  prophets  (Smith  and  the  rest)  upon  this  govern- 
ment. The  truth  is,  Mormonism  is  not  a  religion — it 
is  a  secret  society — a  travesty  on  Masonry.  You 
know,  nearly  all  the  founders  of  Mormonism  were 
Masons,  and  this  feature  is  most  evident  in  the  secret 
endowments.  The  horrors  of  polygamy  are  beyond 
the  imagination  of  you  outsiders,  and  let  me  say  cas- 
ually there  were  no  tears  shed  by  Mormons  when  they 
heard  of  the  death  of  Miss  Kate  Field,  who  was  a 
dreaded  foe,  keen,  fearless,  and,  as  they  believed, 
with  power  at  her  back. 

"  Clever,  astute,  ambitious  people,  suave  hypocrisy 
Is  their  strongest  card.  You  do  not  hear  them  bluster 
or  boast  at  Washington,  where  they  play  the  patient 
misunderstood.  But  here,  Lord ! — well  "  (he  laughed 
a  little  as  he  continued),  "if  a  Mormon  offers  you 
his  right  hand,  you  want  to  keep  your  eyes  tightly 
glued  to  the  left  while  you  clasp  it.  Never  is  a  Mor- 
mon more  dangerous  politically  than  when  he  is 
seemingly  making  a  concession.  These  people  are 
foes  to  the  government.  Their  so-called  religion  is 
treasonable,  yet  if  an  outsider  inquires  into  it,  the 
warning  word  speeds  forth,  '  Preach  only  the  first 
principles  ' — meaning  repentance,  baptism  for  remis- 
sion of  sins,  etc.,  all  the  sweet  and  gentle  things 
preached  by  missionaries  everywhere.  Polygamy, 
blood  atonement,  treasonable  endowments  and  blind 
obedience — they  are  called  the  '  holy  mysteries  '  and 
are  only  to  be  preached  to  the  very  elect  gathered  in 
Zion.  No,  these  Jesuits  will  never  give  to  the  public 
the  Masonic  key  that  will  unlock  the  riddle  of  their 


THE  MORMON  BANQUO  199 

Church,  but  put  your  finger  on  polygamy  and  you 
can  feel  the  whole  structure  tremble.  The  brutalities 
of  the  past  are  unspeakable. 

"  Think  of  John  D.  Lee's  claim  of  nineteen  wives 
and  sixty-four  children.  Such  wholesale  marrying 
cannot  be  safely  practised  now,  but  the  agony  and 
shame  of  smirched  womanhood  is  with  us  still.  Have 
you  noticed  how  many  women  here  of  early  middle 
life,  well  dressed,  well  fleshed,  wear  all  the  same  dull, 
stolid  expression?  Mormon  men  will  draw  your  at- 
tention to  this  well-fed  apathy  and  call  it  perfect 
contentment  with  polygamy;  but  those  that  know  can 
tell  you  that  rage  over  broken  vows,  shame  over 
humiliations,  griefs  over  lost  loves  all  proving  useless, 
they  have  recognised  their  abject  helplessness,  and 
at  last,  like  other  animals,  they  accept  shelter,  food 
and  drink  and  ask  no  more.  Wounds  may  be  many 
and  deep,  but  where  mortification  sets  in  the  throb- 
bing pain  and  agony  are  stilled.  These  women  will 
sit  still  and  silent,  and  lift  neither  voice  nor  finger  to 
protest  now,  for  suffering  is  dulled,  and  one  does  not 
expect  the  moribund  to  ward  off  the  hand  of  desecra- 
tion. But  the  young — are  they  to  suffer,  too?  Why 
will  not  the  happier  women  of  the  land  turn  their 
attention  to  this  plague — polygamy?" 

"  They  do  not  know,"  I  hazarded.  "  It's  so  far 
away — so  like  a  myth,  and " 

"  Oh,"  he  interrupted;  "  they  may  wake  up  some 
day  to  find  it  unpleasantly  near  them.  These  people 
would  be  mighty  proud  of  a  few  converts  from  the 
great  Eastern  cities." 


200  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Oh,"  I  cried,  "  do  you  think- 


"  I  know  that  missionaries  are  being  sent  now, 
who  will  not  take  the  steamer,  as  usual." 

"  But  people  in  the  East  believe  polygamy  dead." 
He  smiled  sardonically.  "  Well,  it  is  Illegal,"  I 
insisted. 

"  It  Is  only  practised  more  privately  and  with  some 
merriment  at  the  expense  of  the  gov^ernment,  that's 
about  all.  By  the  way,  when  the  struggle  was  on  over 
polygamy  our  Mormon  Representative  wept  over  the 
loss  of  caste  the  put-away  polygamous  wife  would 
suffer,  declaring  she  would  be  regarded  by  the  world 
in  the  light  of  a  lawless  woman,  an  unnamable  crea- 
ture, which  was  a  brutality  that  probably  never  en- 
tered any  mind  but  his  own.  He  was  one  of  the  many 
who  thought  It  an  outrage  that  the  first  wife  married 
should  be  held  as  the  legal  mate.  Instead  of  the  last 
and  youngest  one." 

"  What  was  the  real  position  of  a  put-away, 
polygamous  wife?" 

"  Why,  she  was  looked  upon  and  treated  by  the 
Gentiles  as  a  widow  or  possibly  as  a  divorcee;  but  as 
a  nameless  creature,  as  he  suggested,  never!  never! 
While  the  Mormons  paid  her  extra  deference  as  a 
sort  of  martyr." 

As  I  prepared  to  leave  the  store  he  said: — "  Re- 
member, Mormonism  will  surprise  you  some  day  In 
the  East.  It  always  is  willing  to  creep  until  it  can 
stand  quite  firmly.  You  will  hear  that  there  is  no 
blood  atonement,  and  it  will  be  just  as  dead  as 
polygamy,  which  Is  as  dead  as  I  am.   At  this  moment 


THE  MORMON  BANOUO  201 

they  are  preparing  some  new  tools — ^bright  young 
fellows.  If  they  show  gifts  they  are  looked  after,  are 
educated,  made  much  of  by  the  great  ones  of  the 
Church.  A  lad's  heart  is  theirs  then,  naturally,  and 
when  his  powers  ripen  they  are  at  the  command  of 
those  who  have  developed  them.  As  I  said,  some 
new  tools  are  now  in  preparation  and  in  a  few  years 
you  may  hear  of  them.    Good-bye." 

Next  day  I  caught,  by  merest  chance,  one  tiny 
peep  at  Mormonism  that  was  funny,  and  yet — and 

yet There  was  a  double  box  party  on  the  left  of 

the  stage.  One  box  held  four  ladles  and,  for  a  little 
while,  one  gentleman.  In  the  furthest  box  were 
seated  five  little  girls  and  three  little  boys;  and  the 
matinee  had  but  just  started  when  our  interest  was 
aroused  by  hearing  that  these  were  the  Mormon 
children  of  one  father  and  three  mothers. 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  in  answer  to  our  surprised  looks, 
"  the  wives  no  longer  live  as  one  family,  but — er — er 
— on  certain  occasions  they  meet  just  as  they  meet  all 
their  friends." 

And  so  we  went  on  with  our  work,  and  would  have 
given  them  no  further  thought  but  for  the  manner  in 
which  the  play  affected  the  little  people.  True,  the 
house  was  mostly  in  tears,  but  the  passionate  grief  of 
the  tiniest  tot  of  them  all  came  near  to  breaking  up 
our  scene  on  the  stage.  I  was,  as  Odette,  in  opposition 
to  my  husband,  and  alternately  threatened,  wept, 
prayed  and  pleaded  for  a  sight  of  my  own  child. 
While  the  boys  squirmed  uncomfortably  and  the  four 
small  maids,  with  wet  little  wads  of  handkerchiefs, 


202  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

dabbed  at  their  eyes,  the  eldest  miss  sat  frigidly,  with 
supercilious  brows,  and  from  beneath  contemptuously 
drooped  lids  sent  side  glances  of  disapproval  toward 
her  too  emotional  small  sisters.  But  when  the  Count, 
with  savage  sarcasm,  absolutely  refused  to  allow  the 
pleading  mother  to  see,  even  for  a  moment,  the  child 
of  her  love,  that  mere  baby  in  the  box,  between  suf- 
focating gasps,  cried  out,  "  Oh,  please!  oh,  please!  " 
and  turning  laid  her  little  arm  along  the  chair  back, 
dropped  her  head  upon  It  and  broke  into  sobs  that 
shook  her  small  body. 

As  the  curtain  fell  a  wailing  voice  cried:  "  Mama! 
mama !  "  One  of  the  ladies  heard,  and  rising  hast- 
ily, went  to  the  next  box,  but  just  as  she  entered  the 
sobbing  mite  lifted  her  tear-wet  face  and  in  a  dis- 
appointed voice  said:  "No!  no!  Not  that  one! 
I  want  my  mama  I  " 

No.  I  withdrew,  meeting  No.  3  entering  hastily. 
The  weeping  baby  lifted  an  eager  face,  that  clouded 
Instantly,  and  throwing  out  not  only  an  arm,  but  one 
slippered  foot.  In  strong  repulsion,  she  cried:  "  Not 
you — no,  not  you !  Oh !  " — with  piercing  insistence — 
"  I  want  my  very  own  mama !  " 

The  audience  laughed.  Some  of  us  behind  the 
scenes  laughed,  too;  yet  many  eyes  were  wet.  That 
open,  honest  demand  of  nature,  "  I  want  my  own 
mama,"  made  us  wonder  how  often  an  equally  nat- 
ural cry  had  been  wrung  from  women's  hearts:  "  I 
want  my  husband!    My  own  husband!  " 

I  have  not  been  to  Salt  Lake  since,  but  here  was 
this  merchant  to  remind  me  of  his  prophecies — and 


THE  MORMON  BANQUO  203 

many  of  them  have  come  true.  We  have  been  sur- 
prised by  finding  Mormons  teaching  in  our  very 
schools  and  winning  converts  from  our  own  homes. 
Blood  atonement  has  been  denied  again  and  again, 
yet  the  other  day,  in  Utah,  a  condemned  Mormon 
criminal  had  his  sentence  of  hanging  changed  to 
shooting  so  that  he  might  atone  with  his  blood  and 
thus  alone  be  saved  to  eternal  happiness.  Of  the 
clever  new  men  who  were  being  prepared  for  certain 
service,  we  may  find  one,  perhaps,  in  Mr.  Smoot. 
Altogether,  I  fancy  my  unnamed  merchant  friend 
knew  fairly  well  what  he  was  talking  about.  Will 
his  last  prophecy  come  true — ^will  women  defeat  po- 
lygamy? Will  they  exorcise  the  Mormon  Banquo  ? 
I  hope  so — I  pray  so  I 


XIII 
MAJOR  MCKINLEY— A  MEMORY 

IT  lies  before  me,  a  simple  bit  of  pasteboard  such 
as  any  hotel  may  offer  to  the  cardless  caller 
upon  a  patron.  White  once,  but  yellowing  now, 
a  mere  bit  of  pasteboard,  but  enriched  and  made 
inestimably  precious  by  a  few  written  words  of  cour- 
tesy, signed — clearly  and  firmly  signed — "  William 
McKInley." 

Wonderful  Is  the  power  of  association,  for  the  sight 
of  this  scrap  of  cardboard  brings  back  the  brassy 
blare  of  bands,  the  earth  tremble  of  marching  feet 
in  serried  ranks  and  all  the  redundancy  of  shouting 
that  forms  part  of  every  political  jubilation — but 
swelled  beyond  all  bounds  by  the  joy-mad  men  who 
were  not  merely  adherents  and  partisans,  but  loyal 
friends  of  the  man  who  had  just  become  Governor 
of  the  fair  broad  State  of  Ohio. 

The  clang  of  bell,  the  martial  music,  the  drum  and 
cheer — all  brought  back  by  that  small  card,  and  more 
— the  picture,  too,  of  that  State's  idol,  the  happy- 
faced,  clean-handed,  new  Governor  standing  In  the 
State  House,  shaking  hands  with  delirious  constitu- 
ents, many  of  whom  had  uncomplainingly,  even  jok- 
ingly, lost  portions  of  their  clothing  In  the  struggle 
to  reach  that  kindly  hand;  yet  In  the  midst  of  intoxi- 
cating triumph  calling  a  halt — reclaiming  his  hand — 
demanding  a  moment  that  he  might  write  a  line  or 

204 


MAJOR  McKINLEY— A  MEMORY     205 

two  with  his  hat  crown  for  a  desk,  because  forsooth  a 
message  of  congratulation  from  one  almost  a  stranger 
had  reached  him;  but  the  writer  being  a  woman, 
with  exampled  courtesy,  then  and  there,  he  acknowl- 
edged it. 

So,  these  hasty  words,  valued  highly  then,  are 
doubly  precious  now  as  they  look  back  at  me  from 
this  old  card  that  recalls  so  much.  And  this  strong, 
clear  "  William  McKinley  " — it  is  more  than  a  mere 
sign  manual,  it  is  a  symbol,  a  manifestation  of  char- 
acter. There  is  no  reticence  about  a  signature.  In 
the  slang  of  to-day,  "  it  gives  the  writer  away,  every 
time,"  The  name  William  McKinley  would  lend 
itself  so  splendidly  to  the  flourishing,  spread-eagle 
style  of  the  skilled  penman.  Why  it  could  be  fairly 
tied  up  in  loop  and  flourish  and  understroke — but 
instead  absolutely  without  the  vanity  of  curlycues 
or  the  affectation  of  illegibility,  it  is  written  clearly, 
boldly,  simply.  There  is  no  laziness  to  be  found  in  it, 
every  letter  is  there,  well  formed,  and  the  signature, 
legible  to  all,  is  an  index  to  the  character  of  the 
simple,  brave,  duty-loving  man,  whose  sign-manual 
it  was. 

I  put  my  card  away  for  safety,  and  doing  so  I 
recall  that  bitter  winter's  night  in  Cleveland,  when  I 
first  saw  the  man  whose  death  has  moved  the  world. 
At  the  theatre  we  shivered  in  our  dressing-rooms,  and 
jested  over  the  probability  of  people  preferring  the 
cheerful  company  of  their  picturesque  steam  radi- 
ators to  the  large  unfriendly  draughts  of  the  chilly 
opera  house.    For  there  is  no  better  city  than  Cleve- 


2o6  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

land  for  the  location  of  an  energetic  cold  wave,  since 
Erie  is  always  ready  to  blow  into  the  game  of  having 
fun  with  freezing  citizens — and  we  were  united  in 
our  expectations  of  a  light  house  and  also  in  our  envy 
of  those  who  remained  in  comfortable  homes.  The 
curtain  went  up  with  a  lonely,  rattling  rush  upon  the 
first  act  of  "  The  New  Magdalen."  In  the  entrance  a 
member  of  the  company, bundled  in  shawls, was  push- 
ing up  her  sleeves,  while  describing  her  sufferings 
from  the  cold,  and  as  I  approached,  she  addressed 
me,  saying:  "I  have  newly  established  a  fleshly 
school  of  acting."  Then  at  my  raised  brows,  the 
wretch  stretched  out  her  bare  arm  all  bristling  with 
the  cold,  and  suavely  added:  "See — a  goose-^eshly 
school !  " 

And  ordering  her  Instantly  to  the  public  execution 
she  richly  deserved,  I  turned  laughingly  and  looked 
across  the  stage  right  into  the  private  box.  Looked — 
and  ceased  to  laugh.  Looked — stared,  until  the  cold 
of  actual  fear  was  added  to  that  of  the  low  tempera- 
ture. His  back  to  the  "  house,"  his  face  to  the  stage, 
his  arms  folded  high  upon  his  chest,  a  man  sat  there 
alone.  White  as  marble,  immovable  as  stone,  the 
down-pouring  light  from  a  chandelier  directly  above 
his  head,  made  cavernous  shadow^s  about  his  fixedly 
gazing  eyes — but  the  likeness !  Good  Heaven  !  the 
chilling  likeness !  The  great  brow,  strong  eyebrows, 
prominent  nose,  set  lips,  firm  chin,  settling  toward  the 
somewhat  old-fashioned  neckwear — but  all  so  still, 
so  coldly  immovable — was  it  after  all  only  a  portrait 
and  a  trick  of  light?   A  picture  of Suddenly  I 


MAJOR  McKINLEY— A  MEMORY     207 

appealed  to  a  man  approaching  behind  me: 
"  What — 'er — who — 'er — is  that  over  there?  " 

The  man  leaned  over  me  to  see  better,  started 
violently  and  exclaimed:  "Good  God!  look  at 
Daniel  Webster — sitting  in  the  box !  " 

"  Oh!  "  I  gasped,  "  can  you  see  it,  too?  " 

Which  brought  forth  the  censorious  remark: 
"  You  have  believed  me  to  be  afflicted  with  double- 
cataract,  evidently?  " 

But  sarcasm  was  wasted  on  me  just  then,  for  in 
answer  to  my  cue  I  was  entering,  speaking  my  first 
lines  in  the  opposite  direction.  When  I  faced  that  box 
and  its  motionless  occupant — and  met  full  the  steady, 
penetrating  glance  of  the  eyes  that  alone  seemed  alive 
in  that  waxen  mask,  I  wavered,  stammered  and  for 
the  only  time  in  their  lives  my  companions  saw  me 
stand  one  instant  helpless  as  any  debutante.  Then, 
tightening  up  my  nerves,  I  said  to  myself:  "  Man — 
picture  or  ghost !   I  must  go  on  !  "  and  I  did  so. 

The  woman  playing  the  opposite  part  gazed  up  at 
me  with  amazement  and  whispered:  "What  is  it — 
are  you  ill?  " 

She  sat  with  her  back  to  the  box,  and  presently  I 
murmured,  under  cover  of  her  stage  speech:  "  Look 
behind  you!  " 

Slowly  she  turned  her  head — as  I  took  up  my  stage 
reply — then  she  started  fairly  out  of  her  chair,  sank 
back  again  heavily  and  almost  aloud,  exclaimed: 
"Daniel  Webster!" 

It  was  a  genuine  comfort  to  me  to  know  others 
could  see  the  wonderful  resemblance  the  man  bore 


2oS  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

to  the  great  dead.  The  act  was  no  sooner  over  than 
man  and  woman  were  asking  who  was  in  the  box — 
and  though  I  had  a  quick  change  of  costume  to  make, 
I,  too,  demanded  Information  on  that  point;  and  a 
property-boy  dropped  the  fireplace  he  was  carrying 
away  on  his  head,  that  he  might  look  sharper  daggers 
at  me — while  exclaiming  reproachfully:  "  Well,  this 
is  a  cold  night !  I  thought  you  was  an  Ohio  woman, 
Miss  Morris — yet  here  you  are  asking  who  is  our 
Major  McKinley !  "  He  took  his  fireplace  upon  his 
head  again,  muttering:  "  That's  what  I  call  rough!  " 
while  excited  and  pleased  I  flew  to  my  dressing-room, 
announcing  over  the  transom  to  all  and  sundry,  that 
It  was  not  the  great  shade  Webster  who  was  in  the 
box,   but  the  great  reality — Major  McKinley. 

Through  all  the  five  long  acts  of  that  play,  Mr. 
McKInley's  concentrated  attention  never  wavered. 
Everyone  did  their  best,  the  men  in  particular  seemed 
put  upon  their  mettle  by  the  presence  and  the  manner 
of  the  famous  man.  He  sat  quietly  during  the  action 
of  the  play,  but  at  each  fall  of  the  curtain  he  ap- 
plauded generously,  then  folded  his  arms  and  waited 
for  what  came  next. 

At  the  close  of  the  performance  I  was  asked  if  I 
would  like  to  meet  Ohio's  great  speaker,  and  a  few 
moments  later  big  and  cheery  Mr.  Hanna  was  giving 
me  cordial  greeting  and  presenting  the  man  whose 
fame  was  even  then  spreading  like  the  green  bay  tree, 
far,  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  his  own  State — and  as 
our  hands  and  eyes  met,  I  gave  an  exclamation  of 
astonishment.  The  ready  smile,  the  bright,  quick  eye. 


MAJOR  Mckinley— A  memory    209. 

the  genial  manner  made  him  seem  positively  boyish  in 
comparison  with  the  stern  immobility  of  his  former 
manner. 

My  husband,  the  manager,  and  Mr.  Hanna  were 
wrestling  with  political  questions,  and  Mr.  McKinley 
and  I  were  exchanging  jests  and  weather  stories,  when 
I  suddenly  remarked  that  our  play  could  hardly  have 
been  to  his  taste  and  its  length  must  have  wearied 
him? 

"On  the  contrary!"  he  quickly  answered.  "On 
the  contrary!  "  The  smiles  disappeared,  the  lips  set 
themselves  firmly,  the  penetrating  expression  came 
to  his  eyes — suddenly  he  wore  the  Webster  look 
again,  as  he  went  on :  "  It's  a  good  play — it's  a  moral 
play.  I  followed  it  with  interest.  She  had  a  noble 
character,  that  woman  [Mercy  Merrick]^.  I  thought 
once  she  was  lost — that  she  was  going  under,  but," 
a  gleam  lighting  his  eyes,  "  she  did  redeem  herself 
after  all.  I  tell  you  what,  that  was  a  fine  sight  and  a 
fine  moment,  when  she  conquered  herself  there !  " 
and  all  the  actress  in  me  bowed  in  gratitude  before 
the  man  who  could  so  far  yield  himself  up  to  his  own 
imagination  and  the  influence  of  the  play,  as  to  speak 
of  its  creatures  as  real  human  beings,  and  to  rejoice 
in  their  moral  victories. 

Another  remark  of  his  I  carefully  hoarded  up  for 
the  pleasure  of  some  of  the  members  of  my  company. 
He  said:  "  By  the  way.  Miss  Morris,  your  gentle- 
men who  played  military  parts  to-night  were  more 
like  real  soldiers  than  any  I  ever  saw  on  the  stage 
before." 


2IO  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

These  words  I  faithfully  repeated  where  they 
would  do  the  most  good,  but  remained  silent  as  to 
the  next  ones.  For  with  eyes  all  dancing  with  fun,  he 
added:  "That's  a  clever  fellow  tliat  does  the  Ger- 
man army  surgeon." 

"  Why,"  I  said,  "  I  thought  his  dialect  open  to 
suspicion?  " 

"  Oh,  bother  the  dialect,"  answered  Mr.  McKin- 
ley,  "  that  was  good  enough — it  got  its  laugh,  but  as 
he  did  not  even  know  where  to  feel  for  a  pulse,  I 
wondered  what  woul-d  become  of  him  when  he  came 
to  the  ha.miling  of  that  wound,  but  " — he  threw  back 
his  head  and  laughed  at  the  memory — "  he  was 
clever  though,  for  he  turned  his  broad,  broad  back 
to  the  audience  and  performed  a  delicate  operation 
quite  successfully  all  in  the  dark."  Truly  he  had 
given  undivided  attention  to  the  performance. 

Knowing  Mr.  McKinley  to  be  a  noble  orator,  I 
was  much  amused  to  hear  him  indulge  in  a  real 
country  boy's  colloquialism,  while  when  he  was  moved 
to  sudden  hearty  laughter  he  would  strike  his  right 
foot  sharply  upon  the  ground  and  whirl  lightly  about 
on  it — a  movement  inexpressibly  youthful,  and  one 
I  had  not  seen  since  out  at  school  in  Portage  county, 
where  the  big  boys  did  it  at  the  climax  of  some  out- 
rageous fishing  story. 

Once  I  asked:  "  Mr.  McKinley,  has  anyone  ever 
mentioned  your  resemblance  " — his  quick  half-an- 
noyed glance  said  someone  had,  but  I  went  on — 
*'  mentioned  your  resemblance — which  at  some  mo- 
ments is  very  marked — to  Daniel  Webster?" 


MAJOR  McKINLEY— A  MEMORY     211 

And  soldier,  statesman  and  orator  as  he  was, 
he  found  no  better  answer  than  an  averted  head,  a 
little  push  of  the  hand  and  a  petulant:  "Oh,  go 
'long!" 

Everyone  in  the  room  broke  into  laughter — so  un- 
expected and  in  such  delicious  contradiction  to  the 
man's  already  exalted  position,  was  that  rustic,  almost 
bashful:  "Oh,  go  'long!" 

We  had  resumed  our  chat  and  were  arguing  hotly 
over  an  undiagnosed  pain  that  tormented  him,  he 
claiming  it  was  neuralgia,  while  I  declared  for 
plain  old-fashioned  toothache,  and  was  casting  doubts 
upon  his  willingness — Major  as  he  was — to  meet  the 
dentist  in  force  the  next  morning,  when  Mr.  Hanna, 
glancing  at  his  watch,  interrupted  with :  "  Trains — 
Major — trains!  " 

He  did  not  hear  the  warning,  but  began  with  mock 
gravity  to  explain  how  much  nerve  was  required  to 
make  a  man  come  out  from  the  breastworks  and,  all 
empty-handed  and  unarmed,  to  face  a  scientific  pain 
inflictor;  and  got  no  further,  for  a  strong  arm  was 
flung  about  his  shoulders  and  a  big  voice  cried :  "  Boy  I 
that  Columbus  train  won't  wait,  you  know!  " 

Instantly  responding  to  the  affectionate  reminder, 
Mr.  McKinley  was  buttoning  his  overcoat,  diving  for 
gloves  into  all  the  pockets  where  they  were  not,  show- 
ing such  eager  determination  to  be  on  time — that  a 
life  might  have  been  hanging  in  the  balance.  There 
had  been  no  halting,  no — "  just  one  moment " — no 
hurried  finishing  of  his  remarks — but  an  instant  drop- 
ping of  "  chaff  "  and  a  swift,  whole-souled  return  to 


212  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  business  demanding  his  attention.  A  small  thing, 
but  characteristic,  I  think. 

He  offered  his  hand  in  farewell,  and  I  remarked: 
**  So  you  are  in  the  train-catching  line,  too.  Major? 
That  has  been  my  business — lo,  these  many 
years!  " 

As  he  shook  my  hand  he  gave  a  roguish  glance  at 
some  brilliants  on  my  fingers  and  answered:  "  Well, 
you  seem  not  only  to  have  caught  all  your  trains  but 
a  good  many  other  things  besides." 

He  struck  his  right  foot  sharply,  whirled  lightly 
about  on  It,  and  added:  "  I  hope  I  may  be  as  lucky 
catching  my  trains!  "  and  laughing  brightly  back  at 
me  he  left  the  room,  having  had  the  last  jest,  and  In 
spite  of  time  honoured  precedent  the  last  word — 
which  should  of  course  have  been  mine. 

As  general  "  good-nights  "  were  exchanged,  my 
manager  entered  to  hand  me  some  papers.  He  knew 
Mr.  Hanna  and  greeted  him,  and  I  heard  the  kindly 
though  hurried  words:  "  I'm  sorry  Smith,  I  haven't 
time  to  Introduce  Major  McKInley — we've  got  to 
make  that  Columbus  train." 

"  I'm  sorry,  too,"  was  the  answer,  "  very  sorry, 
for  Mr.  McKInley  Is  growing  a  great  man." 

Mr.  Hanna  became  motionless — his  face  set — his 
eyes  had  a  strained  Intentness  as  he  looked  straight  at 
the  other  man,  and  then  In  a  level  tone,  said : 
"Wait!  "  The  silence  that  followed  was  unbroken, 
Mr.  Hanna  passing  through  the  open  door — there 
he  paused,  turned  his  grave  intent  look  once  more 
upon  us,  and  repeated :  "  Wait! '' 


MAJOR  McKINLEY— A  MEMORY     213 

All  the  world  knows  now  what  there  was  to  wait 
for,  but  Mr.  Hanna  seemed  to  know  even  then. 
Shrewd,  clear-sighted  man  that  he  was,  he  was  taking 
a  long  look  ahead.  But  then  he  knew  himself  and 
almost  as  well  he  knew  the  man  whom  he  had  that 
night  affectionately  called  "  Boy!  "  and  there  was  a 
thrilling  prophecy  in  that  terse  word :  "  Wait!  " 

One  more  glimpse  was  I  to  have  of  the  man  whose 
simple  goodness  rivals  his  greatness.  I  was  to  catch 
one  gleam  of  that  devotion  to  his  gentle  wife,  that 
was  the  perfect  flower  of  man's  love  for  woman,  a 
flower  whose  perfume  to-day  sweetly  stimulates  a 
nation. 

We  were  again  in  Columbus.  A  cheerless,  unpleas- 
ant evening  with  a  threat  of  rain  in  the  heavy  air  and 
that  nerve  racking  play  "  Article  47  "  was  on  the 
programme.  Worn,  weary  from  a  day  of  neuralgia, 
I  left  my  dressing-room  with  nerves  and  spirits  far 
below  concert  pitch  and  only  felt  a  very  mild  curiosity 
as  to  the  cause  of  the  gathering  of  my  people  in  the 
first  entrance,  and  their  efforts  to  see  the  occupants 
of  the  box  opposite.  Then  I  heard  one  of  the  local 
men — a  carpenter — saying,  rather  excitedly:  "Yes, 
that's  her — sure  as  you  live !  I  wonder  at  it  too.  It's 
not  a  nice  night  for  well  people — and  Lord !  but  he 
is  careful  of  her." 

*'  Whom  is  he  speaking  of  ?  "  I  asked  as  I  glanced 
across  and  dimly  saw  a  lady  sitting  in  an  armchair, 
so  well  in  the  shadow  of  the  box  curtains  that  all 
I  could  distinguish  about  her  was  her  fine  brow  and 
her  paleness.   But  before  my  question  was  answered 


2  14  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

the  Governor  came  forward  and  seated  himself,  and 
with  a  pang  of  regret,  I  realised  that  the  frail  little 
lady  was  Mrs.  McKinley.  Regret  that  she  had  been 
brought  to  see  that  most  unsuitable  play,  containing 
as  it  did  the  shooting  of  a  woman  and  a  fearful 
representation  of  madness. 

The  performance  began  with  Mr.  McKinley  In  a 
front  seat,  smiling  back  brightly  now  and  then  at  his 
wife,  as  if  sharing  with  her  any  bit  of  fun  or  clever- 
ness that  appeared.  Then  came  the  quarrel — the  vio- 
lent threat,  and  the  shooting.  Instantly  he  rose  and  as 
I  accepted  the  call  before  the  curtain,  I  saw  him 
speaking  earnestly  to  her  and  I  was  sure  he  was  urg- 
ing her  to  retire.  But  she  smiled  up  at  him  and  kept 
shaking  her  head,  therefore  she  was  still  there  when 
I  again  appeared,  which  was  not  till  the  third  act. 
As  the  scene  grew  ever  more  threatening,  advancing 
plainly  toward  a  tragedy,  Mr.  McKinley's  Interest  In 
It  died.  His  interest  was  centred  in  the  precious  little 
woman  in  the  shadow  there.  His  back  went  to  the 
stage,  his  eyes  followed  the  changing  expression  of 
her  face.  Oh,  how  I  hoped  someone  would  persuade 
her  to  leave  before  that  last  dreadful  scene  !  But,  no  ! 
As  the  curtain  rose  she  was  still  there  in  her  chair; 
he  however  had  evidently  learned  of  the  nature  of 
the  final  act,  for  during  all  the  scene  of  madness  he 
never  sat.  Standing  with  his  arm  circling  the  top  of 
her  chair,  his  down-bent  eyes  never  left  her  face  for 
one  moment,  and  when  at  the  sound  of  the  first  gib- 
bering laugh  several  women  in  front  gave  startled 
little  cries,  he  stooped  quickly  and  laid  his  hand  on 


MAJOR  Mckinley— A  memory   215 

hers,  though  she  had  made  no  movement  visible  to 
me. 

He  kept  his  attitude  of  watchful  protection  un- 
broken to  the  end.  When  at  last  it  was  all  over,  he 
must  have  been  a  thankful  man.  He  seized  his  wife's 
wrap  quickly,  but,  courteous  gentleman  that  he  al- 
ways was,  at  the  final  curtain  call  he  cast  it  over  his 
arm  a  moment,  to  give  a  few  perfunctory  hand  claps 
for  a  performance  that,  in  his  anxiety  for  another,  he 
had  not  seen. 

Another  gentleman  entered  the  box  just  then,  and 
carefully  cloaking  his  wife.  Governor  McKinley  gave 
her  his  arm  and,  the  second  gentleman  walking  on  her 
left,  they  retired  from  the  box.  And  then  I  saw  a 
charming — even  a  moving  thing.  The  audience — a 
large  one,  was  on  its  feet,  had  faced  eagerly  toward 
the  doors  when  Governor  McKinley  appeared  sup- 
porting his  wife  and  moving  slowly.  In  one  instant — 
without  command,  without  suggestion,  but  moved  by 
a  beautiful  impulse,  it  stood  a  moment,  then,  the 
people  having  drawn  together  quickly — clearing  a 
broad  passageway  right  to  the  centre  door — they 
stood  like  so  many  statues  of  reverence  while  Gov- 
ernor and  Mrs.  McKinley  made  their  slow  progress 
out  of  the  theatre.  At  the  door,  he  turned  and  waved 
his  hand  in  acknowledgment  of  their  courtesy;  and 
then  only  did  they  begin  to  chatter  and  to  push  and 
crowd  after  the  true  American  fashion.  It  had  been 
an  almost  involuntary  expression  of  tender  sympathy 
for  the  woman's  delicacy  and  the  man's  solicitude, 
and  that  moment  of  the  self-effacement  of  a  whole 


2i6  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

great  crowd  of  people  nev'er  returns  quickly  to  my 
memory  without  bringing  its  thrill  with  it. 

And  now — and  now !  this  Christian  gentleman  has 
been  "  pushed  from  his  stool  "  by  the  hand  of  a 
worthless  youth !  It  is  strange — it  is  terrible  I  That 
beautiful  bond  of  wedded  love  is  broken  and  for  the 
first  time  in  all  her  sheltered,  guarded  life  Ida  Saxton 
McKinley  is  standing  alone.  But  standing,  observe. 
There  is  race  in  that  woman,  and  courage  and  en- 
durance. William  McKinley  had  not  shown  such 
reverent  loyalty  all  these  years  to  a  weakling.  The 
band  was  not  playing  *'  Hail  to  the  Chief,"  or  "  See 
the  Conquering  Hero  Comes,"  all  through  their 
married  life.  The  wail  of  the  dirge  was  known  to 
them.  Twice  she  faced  death  to  win  for  him  a  higher 
title  than  any  the  world  can  give,  and  for  herself  the 
crown  of  motherhood — only  to  be  discrowned  at  last ! 
Together  they  faced  the  sharpest  agony  that  can 
come  to  married  lovers — the  loss  of  their  little  ones. 
Aye,  every  one  was  taken  from  them  and  their  "  house 
left  unto  them  desolate." 

Yet  there  the  woman's  courage  rose.  They  had 
taken  one  another  for  better,  for  worse — could  any- 
thing be  worse  than  that?  Exchanging  a  glance  of 
anguish  each  was  found  reflected  in  the  other's  tear- 
ful eyes,  and  just  so  each  was  enthroned  in  the  other's 
heart.  Each  bore  up  bravely  for  the  other's  sake.  A 
courageous  woman — she  leaned  upon  her  husband, 
so  paying  him  the  sweetest  flattery  man  may  ever 
know.  For  the  weak  woman  leans  upon  anyone,  but 


MAJOR  Mckinley— A  memory    217 

the  strong  woman  leans  only  upon  the  man  she 
honours  and  most  tenderly  loves. 

So  though  Mr.  McKinley  had  in  him  such  dogged 
loyalty  that  when  the  pink  rose  faded  on  the  dear 
one's  cheek,  he  truly  found  the  white  rose  fairer  and 
daintier  by  far.  There  was  much  in  his  wife's  char- 
acter to  win  his  admiration,  to  command  respect. 
That  fine  brow  explains  why  he  confided  his  business 
affairs  to  her.  The  brightness  and  sweetness  of  ex- 
pression explains  why  he  spent  so  many  evenings  at 
home  with  her.  Their  babies  gone — they  had  to  be 
sufficient  each  for  the  other.  Very  surely  Mrs.  Mc- 
Kinley was  companion,  friend  and  counsellor — as  well 
as  petted  invalid  to  the  noble  man  God  gave  her  for 
her  true  spouse. 

She  is  a  brave  woman — a  God-loving  woman ;  and 
the  "  kindly  light  "  that  led  upward  and  onward  for 
so  many  years  the  steps  of  her  statesman  husband, 
when  her  tear-blinded  eyes  can  lift  themselves  from 
the  "  dust," — that  "  kindly  light "  steady,  tender, 
beautiful,  will  lead  her  on,  just  step  by  step,  until  at 
last  all  the  world  will  see  the  frail,  lonely  woman, 
giving  beautiful  obedience  to  that  last  soul-moving 
behest  of  the  dying  Christian  husband:  "Bear  up, 
Ida— it  is  God's  Willi" 

Yes,  God's  will !  but  oh,  true  it  is :  "  God  moves  in 
a  mysterious  way  His  wonders  to  perform !  " 


XIV 
A  CONVERT  TO  THE  PLAY 

HIS  name  was  Joel  Woodley,  and  I  knew  him 
first  at  a  period  of  my  life  where  he  himself 
described  me  as  mostly  eyes,  braids  and 
apron.  A  square-browed,  square-bearded,  squarely 
built  man,  whose  stern  silence  was  but  a  cloak  for 
unfailing  kindness.  He  was  a  Christian  whose  re- 
ligion was  so  vital  and  so  strong  that  It  could  bear 
the  wear  and  tear  of  the  six  days  of  labour  in  addition 
to  the  calmer  service  of  the  churchly  Sabbath. 

Never  out  of  his  native  city,  his  time  was  fairly 
divided  between  his  church,  his  paper  factory  and  his 
home.  Romance  had  touched  him  once,  when  on  his 
twentieth  birthday  he  had  seen  for  the  first  time  the 
tall,  ruddy,  laughing  girl  who  changed  the  world  for 
him  Into  a  place  of  joy  and  never  failing  sunlight. 
Nearly  six  years  followed  of  such  hard  work,  such 
skimping,  pinching,  saving,  that  he  grew  to  know  the 
drop  of  nectar  that  underlies  the  bitter  draught  of 
self-denial,  and  If  he  saw  her  through  roseate  glasses 
then,  he  had  surely  never  cast  them  off  since  with 
rough,  impatient  hand. 

For  the  buxom  woman  at  his  side,  whom  he  saw 
with  greying  hair  and  telltale  wrinkles,  tenderly  re- 
juvenated by  the  rosy  light  of  romantic  love,  seemed 
to  him  all  unchanged,  the  smooth  faced,  laughing 
creature  of  his  boyish  love.  While  yet  the  testing 

218 


A  CONVERT  TO  THE  PLAY       219 

sorrows,  losses,  struggles  of  twenty-five  long  years 
spent  together  had  proved  her  the  tenderest,  bravest, 
most  loyal  of  wives,  and  though  beyond  a  doubt  old 
Joel  believed  he  placed  his  God  first  and  foremost  and 
far  above  all  earthly  treasure  or  joy,  those  who  knew 
him  well  and  valued  him  greatly  were  convinced  that 
in  truth  he  loved  his  wife  far  beyond  his  hopes  of 
heaven.  Be  that  as  It  may,  he  at  one  time  proved  that 
his  love  for  her  was  greater  than  his  fear  of  hell — a 
place  of  whose  actual  existence  he  had  no  doubt  at  all. 

That  Joel  Woodley's  word  was  as  good  as  his 
bond  was  a  belief  so  firmly  established  with  those 
whom  he  dealt  with  that  many  of  the  smaller  dealers 
used  to  object  to  ordinary  business  forms,  saying  they 
didn't  want  any  receipts  or  acknowledgments  or 
signed  bits  of  paper  from  Joel  Woodley,  as  they 
reckoned  his  word  was  worth  all  the  ink  and  pens  in 
town. 

And  he  would  remark: — "Well,  but  you  see  no 
man  knoweth  when  his  call  may  sound.  A  sudden 
passing  away  often  leaves  such  confusion  and  un- 
certainty for  others  to  struggle  with  that  a  bit  of 
signed  paper  becomes  very  helpful.  Better  take  your 
proper  receipt."  And  his  wise  old  eyes  would  smile 
kindly  at  them.  I  was  a  member  of  his  Sunday-school 
class,  and  the  pharisaical  rattle  of  my  stiff  little  skirts 
used  to  seem  to  announce  that  I  was  not  like  unto 
other  little  girls,  who  were  later,  but  ever  was  I  first, 
to  arrive,  and  Mr.  Woodley  always  patted  my  cheek 
and  said:  "That's  right;  that's  right;  always  be 
prompt." 


220  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

His  youngest  daughter,  who  was  In  school  parlance 
"  a  big  girl,"  lifted  me  to  dizzy  heights  of  pride  by 
noticing  me;  nay,  going  to  such  astounding  lengths 
of  condescension  as  to  ask  me  to  her  house,  where  she 
wrestled  laboriously  with  an  ancient  and  ill-tempered 
melodeon  and  with  what  little  breath  she  had  left 
helped  us  to  sing  hymns. 

Thus  it  was  that  I  became  an  unobserved  witness 
of  a  struggle  between  Joel  Woodley,  man  of  his  word, 
and  Joel  Woodley,  lovnng  father,  and  know  which 
Joel  won. 

He  had  an  only  son,  a  bright,  clever  lad,  but  who 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  getting  in  and 
out  of  trouble.  Never  a  sneak,  never  untruthful,  he 
was  more  mischievous  than  a  whole  shipload  of  mon- 
keys, and  playing  hookey  from  school  was  as  the 
wine  of  life  to  him.  One  day  his  father  received  a 
note  of  complaint  from  the  teacher  anent  the  Irreg- 
ularity of  Eddie's  attendance,  and  Mr.  Woodley's 
rare  anger  was  suddenly  ablaze.  With  stern  words 
he  denounced  the  treachery  and  deceit  of  such  con- 
duct, pointing  out  to  the  boy  the  triple  wTong  he  had^ 
done — to  teacher,  father  and  himself — when  sud- 
denly his  own  words  brought  him  to  a  halt.  He  had 
just  declared  that  if  Eddie  ever  repeated  the  of- 
fence he  would  thrash  him  w-Ith  his  own  hands.  The 
boy's  amazed  face  made  him  shuffle  uncomfortably 
about,  but  he  added — "  Well,  since  I  have  said  It,  my 
boy,  I  shall  surely  keep  my  word — so  remember." 

Three  weeks  later,  on  a  very  hot  day,  the  murmur 
and  wash  of  lake  water  filled  Ned's  ears  and  tempted 


\ 


i 


A  CONVERT  TO  THE  PLAY        221 

him  to  his  fall;  he  ran  away  to  go  in  swimming,  and 
was  found  out. 

I  was  at  the  Woodley  house  that  day,  and  with  the 
cat  sagging  in  my  brief  lap  sat  outside  in  the  back 
garden  and  through  the  veracious  pages  of  a  Sunday- 
school  library  book  I  was  assisting  at  the  many  con- 
versions made  by  a  small  Christian  at  the  tender  age 
of  five  years,  when  I  heard  Mr.  Woodley  usher  Ned 
into  the  woodshed  behind  me.  His  voice  sounded 
queer  as  he  said:  "  I  told  you,  Eddie,  what  I  should 
do  if  you  offended  again,  and  I  must  keep  my  word. 
Wait  in  there  for  me." 

"  But,  father,"  said  Ned,  as  all  the  children  called 
him,  "  you  never  hit  me  before." 

*'  No,  and  I  pray  God  I  may  never  have  to  do  it 
again." 

"  But,  father,"  anxiously  continued  Ned,  "  you 
won't  whip  me  if  I  promise  not  to  do  it  again,  will 
you,  father?  " 

"  No  honest  man  breaks  his  word,  my  boy.  So 
stay  in  there  till  I  come  back." 

He  passed  quite  close,  but  did  not  see  me.  At  the 
foot  of  the  garden  were  some  young  trees  and  a  few 
berry  canes.  Presently  he  came  slowly  back  with  a 
long  green  gad  in  his  hand.  Before  going  into  the 
shed  he  paused  and  tried  a  blow  or  two,  and  as  the 
tough,  strong  thing  cut  through  the  air  with  a  hiss  he 
shut  his  eyes  and  shuddered.  Again  he  put  out  his 
hand  toward  the  closed  door  of  the  shed,  again 
paused,  stood  a  moment  with  his  head  low  on  his 
breast.  Then  he  looked  cautiously  about  him,  took 


222  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

In  the  empty  upper  windows,  and,  slowly  drawing  out 
his  pocket  knife,  he  opened  it,  closed  it,  then  with 
desperate  haste  reopened  it  and  carefully  made  one, 
two  slits  in  the  side  of  his  rod  of  punishment. 

I,  who  was  singularly  well  acquainted  with  various 
methods  of  childish  punishment,  had  squirmed  at  the 
sight  of  the  slender  green  strength  of  the  thing,  know- 
ing how  its  flexibility  would  circle  bitingly  about 
small  legs.  I  understood  in  a  flash  that  Joel  Wood- 
ley's  fatherly  heart  had  failed  him,  and  that  he  was 
hedging  at  the  keeping  of  his  word  by  weakening  the 
gad  so  that  it  could  bear  but  few  blows  without 
breaking.  Oh,  stern  face  and  tender  heart!  He  went 
in  then  and,  with  Spartan  courage,  flogged  his  erring 
offspring  to  the  extent  of  three  blows,  when  the  gad 
strangely  split.  Still  he  went  on  until  it  broke  and 
Ned  blessed  his  good  luck;  and  the  story  crept  about, 
and  church  people,  nodding  approvingly,  told  how 
Brother  Joel  had  worn  a  green  gad  to  pieces  over 
that  handful  of  his,  Eddie. 

Now  in  this  man,  generally  just,  generous  and 
godly,  there  was  one  single  streak  of  intolerance.  To 
mention  the  theatre  to  him  was  to  set  him  stammering 
with  the  force  and  violence  of  his  wrath,  his  warning 
and  entreaties.  He  knew  nothing  on  earth  about  the 
theatre  save  that  it  was  denounced  from  the  pulpit, 
and  that  once  in  his  youth  he  had  heard  an  earnest  old 
burning  lake  style  of  preacher  boldly  declare  it  to  be 
"  the  glittering  gate  of  hell,"  and  he  had  shudderingly 
accepted  this  figurative  statement  as  fact  capable  of 
proof.  To  inform  him  that  some  young  couple  of 


A  CONVERT  TO  THE  PLAY        223 

his  acquaintance  had  been  to  the  play  was  to  give  him 
a  painful  shock,  and  he  would  retreat  to  the  hall  and 
walk  restlessly  up  and  down,  with  hands  clasped  be- 
hind him  and  down-bent,  troubled  face.  He  seemed 
to  think  the  theatre  a  place  of  loose  and  noisy  mirth, 
v/here  great  license  of  speech  was  indulged  in  and,  in 
the  language  of  his  beloved  Bible,  every  "  superfluity 
of  naughtiness "  allowed,  including  dance  music. 
When  people  pointed  out  that  such  a  place  as  that 
would  repel  the  refined  men  and  women  who  found 
such  charm  in  theatres  he  instantly  declared  that  in 
that  uncanny  charm  was  the  proof  positive  of  the 
theatre's  commerce  and  close  relation  with  the  devil. 
He  would  not  listen  to  explanation  or  description; 
intractable  and  stubborn  he  seemed  to  be  from  a  great 
fear. 

And  then  the  day  came  that  brought  him  news  of 
my  going  upon  the  stage.  *'  What!  "  he  cried,  as  he 
dropped  into  a  chair.  "  That  clear-eyed  little  girl, 
with  such  marked  religious  leaning,  who  learned  so 
many  verses  and  was  always  first  in  class?  Better  she 
had  entered  a  den  of  wild  beasts  than  that  place  of 
sin!  "  And  that  night  he  prayed  long  and  earnestly 
for  my  rescue,  but  in  very  dejected,  hopeless  tones. 
Dear  old  Joel!  I  can  be  but  grateful  for  the  good 
man's  prayers,  even  if  he  was  a  trifle  doubtful  of 
their  efficacy. 

The  years  passed — crowded,  busy  years.  Now 
and  again  I  met  on  the  street  the  buxom,  smiling 
Mrs.  Woodley,  and  the  daughter  who  had  stooped  to 
me  in  my  days  of  humiliating  youth,  and  they  were 


2  24  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

ever  genial  and  hearty  in  their  greetings,  but  no  word 
was  spoken  of  Joel  Woodley,  and  I  felt  quite  sure 
he  counted  me  as  with  the  lost. 

More  time  passed,  and,  after  pushing  at  it  long 
and  hard,  the  wheel  of  fortune  turned  for  me  and,  lo  ! 
— I  was  back  in  the  old  home  city  to  play  a  star 
engagement.  As  the  first  Western  actress  to  receive 
the  stamp  of  Eastern  approval,  the  town  felt  called 
upon  "  to  rear  up  and  paw  the  air,"  as  a  certain 
Alderman  put  it,  and  the  papers  did  all  that  down- 
right goodwill  could  prompt  or  devise  to  make  the 
week  memorable.  Of  course,  under  all  the  general 
excitement,  old-time  friends  grew  fairly  flighty,  and  I 
took  pains  to  send  to  one  elderly  lady,  who  had  known 
me  from  babyhood,  three  tickets  for  Friday  night. 
This  Mrs.  Bowen  was  a  near  neighbour  of  Mrs. 
Woodley,  and  promptly  she  entered  Joel  Woodley's 
domestic  Eden  and  tempted  his  wife  with  the  for- 
bidden fruit  of  dramatic  entertainment. 

"Oh!"  cried  the  tempted  one,  "and  here's  the 
paper  announcing  that  the  house  is  sold  out  entire  for 
Wednesday  and  Thursday  and  only  a  few  seats  left 
for  Friday  and  Saturday.  Oh,  I  must  not  lose  this 
chance !  Clarie  was  such  a  nice  little  girl,  there  can't 
be  any  harm  in  going  to  see  little  Clarie.  Mrs.  Bowen, 
you  just  hold  on  tight  to  that  ticket  for  me  until  I 
send  you  word." 

Joel  Woodley  went  perfectly  white  when  Ellen, 
his  wife,  asked  his  permission  to  go  to  the  theatre. 
When  he  could  speak,  he  said  slowly:  "  I  have  never 
ordered  your  outgoings  or  your  incomings;  you  are 


A  CONVERT  TO  THE  PLAY       225 

free,  dear;  you  must  decide  the  matter  for  your- 
self." 

But  his  frightened  eyes  beseeched  her.  She  looked 
away,  but  the  sight  of  the  paper  lying  on  the  table 
renewed  her  longing.  She  hesitatingly  said:  "I 
couldn't  go,  of  course,  Joel,  if  you  were  to  be  angry 
with  me." 

Very  gently  he  asked:  "  Have  I  ever  been  angry 
with  you,  my  wife?  No.  This  matter  lies  between 
your  conscience  and  yourself,  and  you  alone  can  de- 
cide it.  Let  us  go  to  dinner,  now;  Eddie  and  daughter 
are  waiting." 

On  Wednesday,  moved  thereto  by  the  excited  story 
of  one  who  had  been  to  the  theatre,  Mrs.  Woodley 
suddenly  took  the  bit  between  her  teeth,  broke  away 
from  all  restraining  doubts  and  fears,  and  bravely 
announced  the  intention  of  going  to  the  play  herself 
on  Friday  night. 

On  Friday  morning  she  rose  in  a  state  of  excited 
anticipation  she  had  not  known  since  her  far-off 
dancing  days.  As  he  was  about  to  leave  the  house  her 
husband  said  slowly,  painfully:  "  Ellen,  send  over  to 
Mrs.  Bowen,  and  see  if  she  has  given  away  that  other 
ticket,"  and  drawing  a  deep  breath  he  added:  "  If 
you  will  go  to  that  place,  my  wife,  I — why,  I  must  go 
with  you,  that's  all." 

He  evidently  felt  that  if  he  shared  in  his  wife's 
sad  folly  he  might  safely  take  the  onus  of  their 
wrongdoing  upon  himself,  and  so  stand  between  this 
woman  God  had  given  him  and  the  questioning,  con- 
demnatory remarks  of  the  brethren. 


2  26  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

That  he  suffered  greatly  was  plainly  seen.  I  had 
the  story  of  that  night  from  Mrs.  Bowen  and  Mrs. 
Woodley  both.  They  said  he  looked  like  a  con- 
demned unfortunate  going  to  public  execution.  Once, 
while  in  the  street  car,  Mrs.  Bowen  felt  compelled  to 
lay  a  friendly  hand  upon  his  knee  and  say:  "  Don't 
take  it  so  hard,  Brother  Woodley."  But  Brother 
Woodley  gave  her  such  a  look  of  accusing  woe  that, 
in  her  own  words,  "  She  didn't  darst  open  her  lips 
again." 

When  in  painful  silence  they  reached  the  theatre, 
the  great  arch  of  gaslight  over  the  door  seemed  ac- 
tually to  frighten  old  Joel.  However,  Ellen  led  the 
way  and  needs  must  he  followed  her  within  "  the 
glittering  gates."  When  they  had  found  their  seats 
the  women  tried  to  look  cheerful  and  chat  a  little  as 
others  did — but  were  painfully  conscious  all  the  time 
of  that  stony  image  of  disapproval  in  the  aisle  seat. 

At  the  crashing  bars  of  the  overture,  Joel  started 
violently,  then  shut  his  eyes  and  held  tight  to  the 
end,  though  his  superstitious  fears  must  have  tortured 
him  with  hideous  mental  pictures,  to  bring  such  drops 
of  perspiration  to  his  pallid  face. 

Then  the  curtain  rushed  up,  showing  the  interior 
of  a  tumble-down  hut  and  he  was  facing  the  first  play 
of  his  life,  "  The  New  Magdalen."  Some  officers 
came  and  went,  then  suddenly  a  great  tumult  of  ap- 
plause burst  forth — it  was  deafening.  He  glanced 
about  frowningly.  "What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 
His  wife  shook  her  head  at  him.  He  looked  back  at 
the  stage.  A  woman  had  come  on.  She  wore  a  shabby 


A  CONVERT  TO  THE  PLAY        227 

black  gown,  a  large  white  apron,  and  carried  over  her 
arm  some  towels  and  bandages.  Then  he  caught  sight 
of  the  badge  on  her  left  sleeve.  His  eyes  brightened. 
He  whispered  eagerly,  "  Do  you  see  what  she  is  wear- 
ing, Ellen — that's  the  red  cross  of  Geneva,  and  she's 
a  good  woman,  for  she's  a  nurse."  But  the  woman 
was  speaking  and  her  voice  acted  like  a  galvanic 
shock  upon  the  three,  the  women  catching  at  each 
other's  hands  and  whispering,  "  That's  Clarie !  as 
sure  as  you're  alive,  it's  Clarie !  Oh,  Joel,  don't  you 
know  her?  " 

But  Joel  no  longer  knew  his  own  name,  age,  home 
address,  or  present  situation.  Like  a  whirling  golden 
cloud  the  fascination  of  the  play  had  caught  him  up 
and  carried  him  beyond  and  out  of  himself.  He  was 
as  the  very  gods,  looking  into  the  hearts  and  the  souls 
of  these  people  and  comprehending  their  very 
thoughts.  With  trembling  pity  he  had  watched  the 
temptation,  the  struggle  and  the  fall  of  that  tired- 
faced  nurse,  who,  they  said,  used  to  be  little  Clarie. 
When  the  curtain  had  fallen,  he  sat  silent,  with  hands 
clenched  on  his  knees,  waiting  in  a  sort  of  daze  for 
the  continuation  of  that  story  of  human  life.  What 
he  thought,  no  one  knew.  He  seemed  not  to  heed  the 
music  and  the  applause  made  him  frown  and  shrink. 

At  last  they  reached  the  closing  act  of  the  play. 
With  splendid  moral  courage,  the  woman,  the  sin- 
stained  Mercy  Merrick,  had  abandoned  her  ill-gotten 
position  of  security,  had  made  full  restitution  and  was 
ready  to  go  back,  friendless  and  alone  to  the  poverty 
and  pollution  of  the  nightmare  world  she  had  come 


228  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

from.  Yet  one  last  sacrifice  was  demanded  of  her — 
that  she  tell  the  dreadful  story  of  her  life,  simply, 
truly,  to  the  two  men  who  loved  her — one  with  a 
selfish,  weak  and  petulant  passion,  the  other  with  an 
adoration  that  had  been  godlike  if  less  tenderly 
human. 

Thus  standing  before  these  two  judges,  with  proud 
head  bowed,  there  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence  that 
strained  spectators'  nerves  to  the  point  of  pain.  The 
two  women  with  Joel  Woodley  watched  him  anx- 
iously. His  face  was  twitching  nervously;  his  hands 
opening  and  closing  rapidly.  Then  Mercy  Merrick, 
looking  back  into  the  murky,  dismal  past,  began  her 
story  with  her  wretched  childhood,  and  presently  her 
low,   monotonous  voice  was  saying: 

"  I  was  just  six  years  old  and  I  was  half  dead  from 
starvation."  (Joel  choked  audibly.  The  voice  went 
on  relentlessly.)  "  A  carriage  stood  near  the  walk — 
an  old  lady  sat  in  it — the  rain  was  falling — the  night 
was  coming  on — and  I  begged,  openly,  loudly,  as 
only  a  hungry  child  can  beg!  " 

With  a  groan  Joel  Woodley  started  from  his  chair, 
saying  decidedly,  "  I'm  going  home." 

Mrs.  Woodley  caught  him  by  the  hand,  whisper- 
ing, all  red-faced,  "  Joel,  sit  down."  Yet  even  as  he 
sank  back  into  his  chair  he  remonstrated,  "  But  I 
can't  stand  it,  dear!  "  Several  hysterical  sobs  fol- 
lowed the  interruption,  but  not  a  soul  laughed. 

When  the  green  curtain  fell  he  rose  with  the  rest 
and  passed  his  hand  several  times  over  his  eyes  and 
brow,  as  one  waking  from  sleep.  In  tones  of  great 


A  CONVERT  TO  THE  PLAY       229 

satisfaction  Mrs.  Woodley  called  his  attention  to  a 
party  leaving  one  of  the  boxes.  "  Is  not  that  the 
Mayor  and  his  family?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  and  then  began  to  look  about, 
noting  the  shape  and  furnishings  of  the  auditorium. 
Presently  he  expressed  a  naive  wonder  at  the  quality 
of  the  people  present,  and  then  a  great  stillness  fell 
on  him  till  they  had  left  the  crowded  car  and  were 
slowly  walking  through  the  midnight  silence  of  their 
quiet  street  of  homes. 

The  women  had  murmured  an  appointment  to  talk 
it  all  over  the  next  day.  Joel,  lifting  his  face  to  the 
starry  heavens,  muttered:  "Thy  arrows  are  very 
sharp,"  and  a  little  further  on,  again  and  in  a  most 
contrite  voice,  "  For  whosoever  exalteth  himself  shall 
be  abased."  Then,  as  they  neared  her  home,  he  said, 
*'  Sister  Bowen,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  helping  to 
teach  me  a  lesson  to-night.  I  have  been  listening  to 
sermons  since  my  boyhood,  but  that  play  is  the  great- 
est sermon  I  have  ever  heard;  with  more  power  to 
convict  of  sin,  to  move  to  pity  and  repentance." 

Two  astonished  women  stood  and  stared.  Then 
Mrs.  Bowen,  in  mild  deprecation,  ventured  with, 
*'  Well,  perhaps,  all  plays  are  not  such  beneficial 
teachers  as  this  one,  and  maybe  some  actors  are  of  a 
lower  degree  than  those  we  saw  to-night."  But  Joel 
only  smiled  a  little,  while  saying,  "  No  doubt,  no 
doubt;  but  I  have  presumed  to  judge  and  condemn  a 
body  of  people  of  whom  I  knew  nothing.  I  was 
wrong.  Good  night,  Sister  Bowen," 

As  husband  and  wife  walked  slowly  onward  she  at 


230  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

last  ventured  rather  timidly,  "  What  did  you  think  of 
little  Clarie,  Joel?  " 

He  smiled  "  It's  very  good  of  you,  Ellen,  not  to 
remind  me  of  how  I  have  long  counted  her  with  the 
utterly  lost.  She  had  me  on  the  rack  to-night.  Why, 
It  seemed  to  me  that  all  the  sorrow  of  all  the  sinning 
women  in  the  world  was  pleading  through  her  voice 
and  weeping  through  her  eyes.  She  may  be  doing  the 
very  work  she  was  created  for — I'll  judge  no  more." 
And  silently  they  entered  their  quiet  dwelling  place. 

Dear  old  Joel!  The  last  time  I  looked  upon  his 
kindly  face  the  footlights,  like  a  crescent  of  fire, 
blazed  between  us,  and  there  were  pitying  tears  upon 
his  cheeks,  but  though  I  saw  him  no  more  I  received 
a  message  of  his  own  writing  that  only  reached  me 
after  his  most  Christian  departure  upon  that  last 
journey  he  looked  to  find  not  long,  but  brief  as  the 
winking  of  the  human  eye. 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  old  home  for  at  least  a  few 
minutes  " — but  time  was  precious  and  I  hesitated. 
"  Please,  there  is  something  there  for  you." 

Her  brave  eyes  were  misty;  I  knew  she  was  refer- 
ring to  Joel — so  I  went  with  her.  And  standing  be- 
fore the  polished  shell  of  the  sulky  old  melodeon  I 
seemed  to  see  through  the  dimness  the  serious  face  of 
Mr.  Woodley,  the  romping  Ned,  the  sedate  Ella, 
and  also  the  childish  visitor  of  long  braids  and  white 
apron. 

I  listened  to  the  fond  foolish  stories  of  school 
triumphs,    of    fam.ily    happenings,    of    mischievous 


A  CONVERT  TO  THE  PLAY       231 

pranks  discovered — all  told  and  heard  with  that  trem- 
ulous, uncertain  laughter  that  Is  but  a  transparent 
screen  for  tears;  and  then  I  found  myself  standing 
before  a  small  table  In  the  bright,  sunny  place  she  still 
called  "  our  room  "  in  memory  of  a  blessed  compan- 
ionship of  years. 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  my  arm  and  said:  "  I'm 
quite  certain  you  never  bore  a  grudge  to  Joel  for  the 
bitterness  of  his  speech  against  your  profession  when 
he  spoke  In  blackest  ignorance.  Oh,  I  know,  my  dear, 
and  I  know,  too,  that  you  used  to  be  right  fond  of 
him  In  your  little  girl  days;  and  just  because  of  that 
I  want  you  to  know  how  sincere  he  was.  I  want  you 
to  see  this  because  it  will  bear  witness  for  him." 

She  gently  drew  aside  a  silken  covering  and  said: 
"That's  Joel's  own  Bible,  Clarle;  open  it,  please." 

There  was  a  certain  pathetic  dignity  about  the 
worn  and  faded  book,  and  seeing  me  hesitate,  Mrs. 
Woodley  put  out  her  hand  and  opened  it,  and  in  a 
moment  her  words  were  proved  true. 

There  was  nothing  stiff  and  niggardly  in  the  open- 
ing of  the  volume.  Turn  to  any  part  and  the  pages 
opened  widely,  completely,  with  a  kind  of  welcome  to 
their  contents,  a  habit  of  old,  much  handled  books. 
The  yellowing  leaves  were  so  worn  and  thin  at  their 
lower  corners  that  the  use  of  a  kind  of  spatula,  made 
of  thick  writing  paper,  was  necessary  to  turn  them 
with  safety. 

"  Lookl  Do  you  see  those  marks  on  the  margin  of 
the  leaves?  They  were  made  by  Joel's  thumb-nail, 
and  these  nail-marked  passages  were  so  luminous  to 


232  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

me  that  they  explained  his  state  of  mind  perfectly. 
See  here,  dear,  was  where  he  read  and  read  and  re- 
read the  night  we  had  been  to  the  theatre.  He  left 
the  book  open  and  I  looked  at  the  page,  and  I  found 
this  deep,  short  thumb-mark.  Read  the  lines  he 
scored." 

It  was  at  the  tenth  chapter  of  St.  John,  where  Jesus 
declares  himself  the  "  Good  Shepherd,"  and  the 
heavily  scored  words  were :  "  And  other  sheep  I 
have  which  are  not  of  this  fold,  them  also  I  must 
bring,  and  they  shall  hear  my  voice,  and  there  shall 
be  one  fold  and  one  Shepherd." 

"  You  can  follow  his  thought, — his  self-reproach- 
ful thought, — can  you  not,  dear?  " 

I  nodded,  and  aimlessly  pushed  back  and  forth  a 
bit  of  folded  paper  lying  there.  "  That's  for  you, 
Clarie — Joel  wrote  that  for  you.  I've  been  keeping 
it  for  you  ever  since."  Written  in  lead  pencil,  it  said: 

"Dear  Little  Clarie — that  used  to  be:  You  were 
always  a  clever  little  girl.  I  taught  you  many  lessons 
in  the  past.  Last  night  you  taught  me  just  one,  but 
it  has  made  me  a  convert  to  the  play.  Your  friend, 

"Joel  Woodley." 


XV 

A  CHIP  OF  THE  OLD  CONFEDERACY: 
JUBAL  A.  EARLY 

I  WAS  too  young  to  really  understand  the  great 
war  when  it  was  on.  I  had  no  father  and  no 
brother  to  explain  matters  to  me,  so  my  ideas 
on  the  subject  of  the  mighty  struggle  were — well, 
peculiar,  at  least.  I  was  greatly  lacking  in  bitterness 
of  spirit,  and  I  remember  that  on  one  occasion  when 
I  had  been  sent  at  risk  of  sunstroke  to  read  what  was 
written  on  the  bulletin  board  at  the  telegraph  office,  as 
I  pushed  through  the  crowd,  I  wept,  because  the  killed 
on  both  sides  were  all  Americans.  Why — I  indig- 
nantly asked — if  these  secession  people  and  our  aboli- 
tion people  must  fight,  why  don't  they  turn  around 
and  fight  some  foreign  people,  and  not  be  Gaining 
and  Abeling  each  other  like  this?  I  had  then,  as  I 
have  now,  the  habit  of  forming  strong  likes  or  dis- 
likes for  people  unknown  to  me;  therefore.  Grant, 
Sheridan,  Sherman,  Custer,  Hancock  and  Meade  I 
greatly  admired,  while  Burnside — whom,  like  several 
others  named,  I  came  to  know  later  in  life — I  disliked 
because  of  his  whiskers,  which  would  not  let  him  look 
like  a  fighting  man.  And  in  spite  of  all  I  read  of  the 
wonderful  executive  and  constructive  ability  of  Mc- 
Clellan,  I  always  saw  him  in  my  Imagination  very 
spick  and  span,  correct  and  superior  in  air,  drawing, 

233 


234  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

on  nice,  white  paper,  plans  of  battles  to  be  fought 
when  all  his  soldiers  were  quite  perfectly  trained  and 
correctly  uniformed;  and  I  used  to  wonder  anxiously 
if  the  enemy  would  wait  until  he  was  quite  ready.  On 
the  other  side,  I  greatly  admired  J.  E.  B.  Stuart. 
Robert  E.  Lee  I  thought  quite  lovely,  but,  for  some 
mysterious  reason,  I  always  regarded  him  as  a  martyr, 
and  was  grateful  that  his  people  loved  him  so.  In  my 
opinion,  the  best  thing  about  Jefferson  Davis  was  his 
wife.  I  had  never  seen  him  pictured  without  her,  and 
she  was  charming.  Morgan  and  Forrest,  I  was  afraid 
of;  but  the  man  I  disliked,  without  rhyme  or  reason, 
but  yet  wholly,  entirely  disliked,  was  Jubal  A,  Early. 
As  the  years  went  on,  I  developed  an  undying 
curiosity  about  the  war  and  everyone  who  took  part 
in  it — high  or  low,  old  or  young,  black  or  white, 
Federal  or  Confederate — all  were  marvels  of  inter- 
est to  me  if  they  had  been  in  the  great  fight.  I  was 
utterly  speechless  with  emotion  when  I  took,  in  fare- 
well, the  proffered  hand  of  that  beautiful  wreck, 
Pauline  Cushman,  who  left  the  stage  to  act  as  a  spy 
in  the  Northern  service,  while  my  heart  almost  stood 
still  with  the  wonder  and  the  marvel  of  the  glimpse 
I  caught  of  a  boy,  small,  pallid  and  just  then  wearily 
indifferent,  but  yet  a  morsel  blown  across  my  path 
from  one  of  the  bloodiest  battlefields  of  the  world — 
Shiloh.  His  legs  had  gone  from  under  him.  When 
his  breath  returned,  he  called  aloud  to  space:  "  My 
di-um  ain't  busted,  but  I  can't  reach  t'other  stick!  " 
and  then  rat-tatted  as  best  he  could,  sitting,  hot  in 
his  own  blood,  there  in  what  might  have  seemed  the 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  235 

measured  centre  of  the  surely  coming  charge.  As  his 
one  stick,  beat,  rataplanning  as  best  it  might  alone,  his 
ghastly  face,  turned  backward,  saw  the  first  man, 
rifle  in  hand  who  topped  the  low  ridge,  racing  for- 
ward on  two  strong  legs,  furiously  cursing  the  swing- 
ing, helpless  left  arm  that  dripped  as  he  ran.  And  the 
child,  with  frenzy-keyed,  shrill  voice,  screamed: 
"Man!  Man!  Give  me  my  stick!  I  ain't  got  no 
legs!  Oh,  give  me  my  stick,  will  you?  And,  say! 
Put  me  by  that  tree,  and  I'll  drum  all  day — I  will!  " 

Without  pause  the  man  with  the  sound  legs  cast 
from  him  the  useless  gun,  caught  up  the  boy,  and 
swung  him,  drum  and  all,  to  his  shoulder.  He 
snatched  up  the  second  stick,  brought  the  shattered 
little  legs  about  his  neck,  and,  holding  them  on  his 
breast  with  his  sound  arm,  he  leaped  forward,  barely 
escaping  submersion  by  the  great  blue  wave,  now 
pouring  over  the  ridge.  A  wild  roar  of  recognition 
followed  in  the  wake  of  the  long  roll  and  rattle  torn 
from  the  drum  by  the  childish  hands  of  the  man- 
mounted  drummer-boy,  while  he  madly  beat  out  rally, 
charge,  everything  he  could  think  of  save  a  recall. 

Then  the  gasping  man  who  carried  him  began  to 
reel  in  his  tracks,  and  the  drummer-boy  cried,  pierc- 
ingly: 

"Oh,  Man!  Man!  Don't  put  me  down!  See — 
they're  dropping  like  flies — and  they  want  me  to 
drum  to  show  'em  the  way  to  go !  Don't,  damn  it, 
don't!  Oh,  God!" 

For,  with  a  roar,  the  earth,  the  good,  old  patient 
earth,  was  hurling  itself  skyward,  rent  apart  to  its 


236  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

awful,  flaming  heart,  and  the  boy's  legs  were  gone 
again ! 

Then,  If  the  mere  sight  of  this  maimed  little  drum- 
mer-boy so  affected  me,  imagine  how  interesting  I 
must  have  found  the  men  who  were  powers  during 
those  four  slow,  dragging,  bloody  years  of  war.  But 
the  great  struggle  had  been  over  for  long  years  when, 
in  playing  a  two-weeks'  engagement  in  the  city  of 
New  Orleans,  I  met  that  true  chip  of  the  old  Confed- 
eracy— General  Jubal  A.  Early. 

The  glory  of  the  old  St.  Charles  Hotel  having 
departed,  and  the  new  hotel  being  still  on  paper  only, 
1  followed  the  example  set  by  others  of  my  profes- 
sion, and  took  apartments  in  a  private  house.  I  soon 
found  there  was  another  guest  there,  whose  room 
was  on  the  ground  floor,  and  from  my  balcony  I 
often  saw  him  coming  in  or  going  out,  and  my  atten- 
tion was  at  once  attracted  by  his  odd  appearance. 

He  was  bowed  and  bent  at  the  shoulders,  and 
seemed  greatly  to  need  the  support  of  his  massive  old 
cane.  His  hair  and  long  straggly  beard  were  of  that 
yellowish  white  that  is  the  least  lovely  of  all  the 
shades  of  grey  hair,  but  his  costume  was  the  oddest 
thing  about  him.  Sunday  or  week-day,  he  was  clothed 
from  top  to  toe  in  a  peculiar  shade  of  grey,  quite  un- 
like anything  I  had  ever  seen  in  tailoring-goods 
before,  the  trousers,  vest,  tailed  coat  and  big  hat 
being  all  of  that  unusual  grey. 

Susie,  a  woman  who  had  been  in  service  there  so 
long  that  she  had  taken  her  employer's  name,  being 
in  my  room  one  day  as  the  old  man  left  the  house,  I 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  237 

commented  to  her  on  his  odd  appearance,  ending 
with :  "  I  wonder,  sometimes,  if  that  is  not  the 
prison-made  grey  cloth  formerly  used  by  the  Con- 
federate army?  Give  a  military  cut,  a  little  black 
braid,  a  few  brass  buttons  to  that  coat,  and  I  almost 
believe  we'd  have  a  true  Southern  uniform." 

And  Susie  answered:  "  I  reckon,  Miss,  you  don't 
know  who  dat  ol'  man  is,  or  you'd  be  mighty  sure  of 
what  cloth  he's  dressed  in.  Why,  dat's  ol'  Mr. 
Early?" 

I  turned  quickly:  "  You  don't  mean  the  General — 
Jubal  A.  Early?" 

"  Yaas,  ma'am,  dat's  jes'  who  I  do  mean.  He  lives 
here,  locked  up  in  his  own  room,  an' — my  Lordy ! — 
how  he  does  damn  and  hate  all  you  Northern 
people!  " 

She  looked  at  me  expectantly  "  I  reckon  you  North- 
erners plumb  hate  him  back  again?  " 

"Good  gracious,  no!"  I  answered,  "People  of 
the  North  are  good  fighters,  but  bad  sulkers.  They 
are  too  busy  attending  to  their  business  to  waste  time 
hating  people,  even  those  who  have  been  of  real 
consequence." 

I  saw  the  malicious  sparkle  in  the  woman's  eyes, 
but  I  never  dreamed  she  was  going  to  avenge  an  un- 
deserved "  blowing-up  "  by  repeating  my  words  to 
the  General,  as  she  did  that  very  night.  She  told  me  of 
the  lonely  life  of  the  old  soldier,  of  his  oddities,  of 
his  profanity  with  the  people,  and,  finally,  of  his 
one,  his  only,  joke.  Whenever  he  went  away  to  a 
soldier's  reunion  or  funeral  or  the  like,  he  always 


238  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

gave  his  key  Into  Susie's  own  hand,  forbidding  her, 
on  pain  of  death,  to  allow  any  "  damned  body  "  in 
his  room — Mrs.  T.  no  more  than  anyone  else.  Then 
he  would  tramp  to  the  front  door,  pause,  beckon  her 
to  him,  and  say,  fiercely:  "Look  here!  If  they  put 
any  damn'  Northerner  in  my  room,  Susie — you  kill 
him,  do  you  hear?  P'izen  him,  and  leave  the  con- 
sequences to  me!  I'll  see  you  through  and  stand  the 
expenses  of  bur}nng  him  besides,  damn  him!  " 

And  that  was  the  joke,  w'ell  worn,  the  one  and  only 
joke  of  General  Early,  so  far  as  this  family  knew, 
and  he  had  lived  long  with  them.  He  was  very 
grumpy  and  gruff  in  manner.  When  he  chanced  to 
meet  strangers  in  the  hallway,  he  even  muttered  a 
curse,  as  he  unlocked  his  door.  If  the  intruder  was 
masculine;  while  my  silent  bow,  as  I  passed  him, 
produced  but  a  spasmodic  upward  jerk  of  the  gnarled 
forefinger  toward  the  grey,  unlifted  hat.  And  I 
smiled  as  I  realised  that  the  old,  childish  dislike  for 
the  man,  unreasoning  as  ever,  was  still  with  me, 
because,  perhaps,  all  trace  of  the  West-Pointer,  of 
the  veteran  soldier,  had  slipped  away  from  him.  In  his 
appearance  there  being  more  of  the  lawyer,  more 
of  the  embittered  politician,  than  of  the  army 
man. 

Slipping  out  one  day  to  match  a  skein  or  two  of 
embroidery  silk,  I  found,  on  leaving  the  store,  that 
I  was  threatened  with  a  drenching,  and  ran  for  home, 
scudding  before  the  gale  with  bare  poles.  Mercy ! 
What  wind!  What  darkness!  I  was  dashed  up  the 
three  shallow  steps,  and,  as  I  seized  hold  of  the  door- 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  239 

knob,  I  laughed:  "  Any  port  in  a  storm,"  and  fairly 
hurled  the  door  back,  and  myself  into  the  hall.  And, 
oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  A  big  cane  went  flying  one  way, 
and  a  man  who  had  had  a  hand  upon  the  knob  went 
the  other  way  and  struck  the  wall  with  a  violence 
that  forced  an  Indian-like  "  ugh  I  "  from  his  lungs  as 
the  door  banged  to. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  Oh !  I  beg  your  pardon !  " 
I  gasped. 

"  Wh-what  the  devil's  the  matter  with  you?" 
snorted  the  unfortunate. 

"  That's  -what's  the  matter  with  me !  "  I  cried,  as 
through  the  shrieking  wind  we  heard  the  first  lashing 
of  the  furious  rain  across  the  door.  I  ran,  and  picked 
up  the  cane,  and  placed  it  In  his  heavily  veined 
hand. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  sir,"  I  continued;  "of  course,  I 
could  not  know  anyone  was  holding  the  other  knob. 
It  was  the  storm  that  made  me  so  frantic  to  get  In, 
and  I'm  dreadfully  afraid  I've  hurt  you  badly,  al- 
though I  suppose  you'd  rather  die  there  against  the 
wall  than  acknowledge  an  injury  received  from  a 
Northerner?  " 

Something  like  a  grim  smile  came  to  his  lips,  as  he 
grunted:  "  Well,  you're  no  fool,  if  you  have  mashed 
me  up  here  like  a  mosquito  against  the  wall.  What 
a  devil  of  a  noise!"  he  grumbled,  as  he  drew  his 
door-key  from  his  pocket.  I  saw  how  his  hand  trem- 
bled, and  boldly  taking  the  key  from  him,  I  said: 

"  Please  let  me  assist  you,  sir,"  and  ran  down  the 
hall,  and  unlocked  the  door. 


240  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

"  This  is  my  room  and  home,"  he  said,  then  paused 
and  peered  in  and  exclaimed:  "Now,  damn  that 
woman !  " 

Oh,  such  a  dreary,  forbidding  room,  in  that  dim 
light!  Such  a  dust,  confusion  of  papers  and  books, 
uncomfortable  chairs,  cov^erless  tables,  undraped 
windows !  His  frown  had  deepened,  and,  in  a  queru- 
lous tone  of  real  disappointment,  he  said,  more  to 
himself  than  to  me:  "  Now,  where  in  the  devil  is  my 
lunch?" 

Then — in  spite  of  all  I  had  heard  of  his  woman- 
hating,  of  his  unsociability — the  utter  forlornness  of 
that  room,  the  beating  storm  outside,  made  me  bold, 
and  I  answered:  "  I  don't  know  where  your  luncheon 
is,  General,  but  I  do  know  where  mine  is,  and  you're 
going  to  share  it  with  me,  unless  you're  afraid  I'll 
poison  you?  "  He  shot  a  quick  glance  at  me,  but  I 
went  on.  "  You  look  like  a  tea-drinker."  He  nodded 
emphatically.  "  Then,  come  on,"  I  said,  "  and  take 
your  tea  with  the  enemy." 

"  Oh !  "  I  gasped,  as  the  house  fairly  shook.  "  I'm 
afraid  of  the  storm !  Please  come  and  lunch  with  me, 
won't  you?  "  At  this  he  laughed  outright,  locked  his 
door  securely,  again  punctiliously  damned  Susie,  and 
followed  me  upstairs. 

My  sitting-room's  pictures,  piano  and  couches, 
glorified  with  roses  and  mignonette,  and  made  hos- 
pitable by  warm,  doggish  welcome,  seemed,  by  con- 
trast with  that  dusty  desolation  downstairs,  a  homely 
and  inviting  spot.  The  tray  was  already  on  the  small 
table,  but,  requiring  some  additions  to  its  furnishings, 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  241 

I  rang  the  bell  in  a  darkness  so  great  that  I  had  to 
feel  for  the  button.  The  general  proposed  a  light. 

"  The  matches  are  right  beside  you,  sir,"  I  an- 
nounced, "  on  the  mantel."  I  felt  trouble  in  the  air 
as  I  spoke,  and  he  put  his  cane  under  his  arm,  and 
grabbed  the  little  fancy  receptacle.  The  sandpapered 
space  was  about  an  inch  and  a  half  long.  He  drew 
out  a  match,  and,  jerking  it  across  the  sand-paper, 
sent  the  flaming  head  flying  through  the  air.  One 
match  went  that  way  in  silence,  a  second  went  with 
a  stamp  of  the  foot,  a  third  with  a  snort,  a  fourth 
with  a  damn !  And  then  he  dashed  the  box  on  the 
mantel,  snatched  out  another  match,  and,  scratching 
it  across  that  part  of  his  anatomy  most  suited  for  the 
service,  he  had  the  gas  lighted  in  an  instant,  and  was 
telling  me  just  what  kind  of  fool  the  man  was  who 
had   invented  that   particular  match-safe. 

Then  the  recalcitrant  Susie  appeared  and  saw  who 
my  companion  was,  standing  on  the  threshold  in  an 
amazement  that  became  stupefaction  when  she  heard 
my  order. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  you  chucklehead?  " 
grimly  inquired  the  old  man. 

"  W-w-why,  General,  you  goin'  to  break  bread 
with  er  Northern  woman?  W-w-why  you've  cuss'd 
'em  from  Dan  ter  Beersheba  ever  since  de  war  I  You 
is  plumb  hoodoo'd,  you  is,  Marse  Early!  " 

"If  I  had  my  bootjack  here!"  regretfully  mur- 
mured "  Marse  Early."  At  those  words  Susie  began 
to  take  proper  notice,  and  started  away  to  get  the  cup, 
plate,  et  cetera,  and  I  jestingly  added:  "  Be  sure  you 


242  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

bring  a  separate  pot  for  General  Early's  tea.  I  want 
him  to  feel  quite  safe  from — er — attack  of  any  sort, 
you  know." 

I  laughed  as  I  threw  off  my  hat  and  mantle,  and 
he  answered:  "That's  just  like  you  Northerners. 
Rub  it  in — rub  it  in !  Well,  I  see  that  that  fool  Susie's 
been  telling  tales  about  me,  and  you  are  just  what 
your  infernal  soldiers  were,  you  love  to  rub  it  in. 
It's  a  cursed  mean  trait,  too !  " 

*'  I  know  it.  I  know  it!  "  I  replied,  as  I  held  out 
my  hand  for  his  hat  and  cane,  and  pushed  a  chair 
toward  him.  "  It  showed  itself  most  plainly  in  our 
fierce  and  implacable  Grant  at  Appomattox.  You 
remember  how  he  '  rubbed  it  in  '  about  the  side-arms, 
the  horses  and  the  self-respect  he  left  to  the  brave 
men  who  had  gamely  lost  to  him!  You  would  not 
have  rubbed  it  in  like  that,  would  you.  General?  " 

He  gazed  angrily  at  me  with  his  bright,  hot-look- 
ing, dark  eyes,  and  a  fierce  blast  of  noise  from  outside 
suddenly  reminded  me  that,  although  the  war  was 
over,  the  storm  was  not,  and,  hastily  pulling  a  big 
white  rose  from  the  bowl,  I  waved  it  before  him, 
crying: 

"  Truce,  General,  truce !  If  you  have  been  too 
busy  all  your  life  to  learn  to  take  a  joke,  you  can't 
have  passed  through  the  Florida,  Mexican  and  Civil 
ructions  without  learning  how  to  carve  a  chicken !  " 
And  I  offered  him  the  carving-knife  and  fork. 

He  accepted  them,  remarking:  "You're  a  mock- 
ing, little  Northern  devil!  But  I'll  carve  the  chicken 
for  you." 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  243 

And  I  added :  "  That's  right,  and  we  won't  say 
anything  more  about  poisoning  Northerners,  or  rub- 
bing things  into  Southerners,  but,  Hke  little  birdies  in 
a  nest,  we'll  pick  the  worms  that  Susie  brings." 

At  which  nonsense  he  broke  into  crackling  laugh- 
ter, and  then  entered  said  Susie,  with  teapot,  dishes, 
etcetera.  Presently,  she  being  gone,  behold  us  vis-a- 
vis, outside  the  lashing  storm,  between  us  the  neatly 
arranged  tray  and  steaming  silver  pot;  beside  me, 
cushion-enthroned,  the  small  empress  of  my  heart, 
Lasca,  who  ate  every  currant  and  raisin  an  unwilling 
cake  gave  up. 

The  General  drank  his  cup  of  tea  eagerly,  as  one 
who  needed  the  refreshment.  Then,  in  true  tea-lover 
fashion,  he  took  the  second  one  reflectively,  with 
appreciation  of  flavour  and  bouquet. 

He  had  partaken  rather  sparingly  of  the  cold 
fowl  and  salad,  and  sat  stirring  the  tea  slowly  in  his 
cup,   when   I   heard  the  welcome  words :    "  Yes,   I 

remember  once,  when  we "  and  I  knew  that  he 

was  off  for  a  talk.  Believing  that  he  would  go  on  as 
long  as  the  tea  lasted,  I  gently,  gently  drew  the  hot- 
water  pitcher  nearer  and  secretly  refilled  my  cup  from 
that;  for  I  was  certain  that  once  the  thread  of  remi- 
niscence was  broken,  even  by  an  order  for  fresh  tea, 
he  would  take  it  up  no  more.  So  I  sipped  water,  and 
listened,  asking  a  question  now  and  then,  seizing  a 
moment  of  excitement  or  a  quiet  unconscious  explo- 
sion of  swearing,  to  pour  a  little  tea  into  his  cup,  that 
and  sympathetic  listening  being  the  fuel  that  kept 
him  going. 


244  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

And  so  he  told  me  many  things  about  the  great 
war,  and,  as  he  talked,  a  curious  change  came  over 
him;  and  suddenly  I  was  reminded  of  that  queer 
growth  sometimes  sold  by  pedlers  on  the  street,  and 
called  the  "  Jerusalem  rose."  A  dry,  drab  bunch  of 
stems,  it  looks  as  dead  as  Herod,  but,  placed  in  a 
basin  of  water,  it  softens,  uncurls,  spreads  out  sturdy 
roots,  and  presently  becomes  green  as  to  leaf,  a  sort 
of  hemlocky  or  cedar-like  green,  but  nevertheless 
fresh  and  livnng.  And  here  was  this  bent  man 
straightening  up,  throwing  back  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders, the  growling,  grumpy  tones  becoming  more 
open,  more  commanding.  His  always  bright  eyes 
were  now  hotly  glowing,  and  something  of  the  soldier 
came  back  to  his  bearing.  Only  the  bitterness  of  the 
disappointed  man  remained  unchanged,  and  its  tang 
was  in  every  sentence  that  he  spoke.  If  he  sneered 
contemptuously  at  the  great  men  of  the  North,  he 
was  savagely  critical  of  some  of  the  great  men  of  the 
South.  He  cursed  venomously  when  speaking  of 
"  Fisher's  Hill  "  and  of  Sheridan,  but  Custer's  name 
he  would  not  pronounce,  not  even  when  he  referred 
to  "  Waynesboro,"  where  he  lost  to  the  younger 
man,  and,  a  few  sad  days  later,  found  himself  "  re- 
lieved of  his  command." 

A  silence  had  come  upon  him,  after  the  speaking  of 
those  bitter  words,  "  relieved  of  my  command."  He 
stared  downward — oh,  if  I  could  have  seen  in  that 
cup  all  that  he  saw  there,  as  he  stirred  the  tea  round 
and  round,  while  his  heavily  veined  left  hand  nerv- 
ously threaded  his  beard! 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  245 

I  did  not  know  just  what  to  say  or  do — somehow 
I  always  seem  to  know  w4ien  suffering  is  near,  I  felt 
Its  presence  then,  and,  meaning  to  break  the  silence 
with  some  casual  remark,  I  made  this  criminal  selec- 
tion: "  Waynesboro?  That  was  In  the  spring  of  '64, 
I  think?" 

His  fierce  eyes  leaped  at  my  face,  as  a  hound 
might  have  leapt  at  my  throat,  as  he  shot  out  the 
words:  "March — '65!"  From  knitted  brows  to 
writhing  mouth  there  was  such  a  quiver  of  pain  upon 
his  face  that  instead  of  this  hated  date  he  might  have 
plucked  a  knife  from  his  living  breast.  Only  a  mo- 
ment's open  expression,  but  in  it  there  was  so  much 
wounded  pride,  anger,  humiliation  and  pain,  that 
suddenly  I  seemed  to  partly  understand  his  bitterness. 
In  looking  back  at  the  long  road  he  had  travelled 
from  West  Point,  through  the  Florida  War,  through 
the  honours  of  the  Mexican  War,  through  the  early 
successes  of  the  Civil  War,  only  to  find  military  ex- 
tinction at  Waynesboro! 

"  Relieved  of  his  command  "  after  nearly  thirty 
years  of  service  !  Staring  Into  his  cup  again,  he  looked 
so  old,  so  sad,  so  lonely,  a  swift  impulse  made  me 
cry:  "The  greatest  soldier  of  his  time  came  at  last 
to  Waterloo !  "  and,  as  I  live,  he  half  rose  from  his 
chair,  and,  bowing  to  me,  said  gravely:  "Thank 
you,  madam!  " 

As  he  sank  back,  he  began  rolling  a  strand  of  his 
beard  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger.  "  You  have 
a  kind  heart,"  he  said,  "  a  big  heart."  He  paused, 
then  with  Impetuosity  he  exclaimed:   "  See  here!    Fd 


246  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

like  you  to  understand  things  better.  You — you 
damned  Northerners  think  it's  mighty  funny  that  our 
niggers  fear  the  power  of  the  '  voodoo,'  or,  as  you- 
all  call  it,  the  '  hoodoo.'  A  power  for  evil — a  power 
stronger  than  you  are.  Away  from  the  blacks,  it  is 
bad  luck.  You  don't  believe  in  it,  but  you'll  nail  a 
cursed  old  horseshoe  over  your  door  to  keep  it  away, 
and  none  of  you  dare  walk  under  a  ladder,  for  fear 
of  this  bad  luck!  But  look  you  here,  young  lady. 
Sometimes  in  this  world  it  comes  about  that,  instead 
of  the  nigger,  it's  the  white  man  who  plumb  fears 
his  cursed  luck!  It  is  the  white  man,  who,  in  secret 
to  his  quaking  soul,  acknowledges  the  power  of  some 
'  hoodoo !  '  Why,  see  here !  Was  I  not  a  soldier 
trained,  a  seasoned  and  experienced  soldier,  an  honest 
man,  and  devoted  body  and  soul  to  the  '  Cause?  '    I 

served  it  successfully,  too,  at  the  first.  I  was  at " 

And  he  rapidly  pronounced  the  names  of  many  bat- 
tle-fields. "  A  '  division  '  is  not  given  to  a  man  who 
is  a  coward  or  a  fool,  and  then  did  I  change?  Never, 
in  the  world  !  I,  old  Jubal  Early,  was  as  keen  to  plan, 
as  eager  to  work  and  as  ready  to  turn  up  my  toes, 
as  any  man  in  the  Confederacy!  I  did  not  change, 
but,  by  the  Almighty !  my  luck  changed  with  a  ven- 
geance !  On  foot  or  on  horseback,  in  camp  or  in  field, 
bad  luck  dogged  my  steps.  No  matter  how  perfect 
my  plans  might  be,  how  thoroughly  approved  by 
others,  bad  luck  followed  any  attempt  of  mine  to 
carry  them  through.  Half-won  engagements  sud- 
denly lost,  victory  torn  from  your  very  grasp,  would 
make  any  man  believe  in  bad  luck.   My  reputation 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  247 

as  a  '  Jonah  '  began  to  spread  far  and  wide.  Why,  a 
wounded,  jeering  devil  of  a  prisoner  said  one  day: 
*  Oh,  we  knew  we  were  going  to  lick  you  that  time.' 

"  '  How  could  you  know?  '  asked  the  Confederate 
with  whom  he  was  talking.  '  You  were  devilishly 
near  to  being  licked  yourselves! ' 

"  '  That's  so,'  replied  the  prisoner,  *  but,  all  the 
same,  when  we  heard  that  that  unlucky  old  man  Early 
was  In  command,  we  knew  we'd  win — couldn't  help 
it,  you  know !  '  " 

The  General  raised  his  piercing  old  eyes  with  al- 
most an  appeal  In  them,  as  he  continued:  "And,  In 
God's  name,  was  there  ever  such  luck  heard  of  as 
that  which,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  brought  Sheridan  on 
the  field,  sweeping  together,  as  he  rode,  his  whipped 
and  fleeing  men,  with  his  cursed  call :  '  Face  the  other 
way,  boys !  Face  the  other  way  1  '  and  so  wrenching 
away  from  us  our  hard-won  victory?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  sighing  heavily,  then  he  slowly 
went  on :  "  Opequan  Creek.  Fisher's  Hill.  Cedar 
Creek.  Lost  guns.  Lost  trains.  Hard  luck!  Hard 
luck !  But,"  he  cried,  fiercely,  "  by  God,  no  cow- 
ardice!" adding,  "Eh?  Eh?"  In  a  tone  of  chal- 
lenge. 

And  I  answered:  "General,  I  fancy  you  are  the 
only  person  In  the  South  who  would  venture  to  couple 
the  name  of  Early  with  the  word  '  cowardice.'  " 

In  spite  of  the  oaths  and  jibes  and  sneers  at  North- 
erners he  had  indulged  In,  I  was  feeling  very  sorry 
for  this  disappointed  old  soldier  In  his  loneliness, 
when  suddenly  he  exclaimed:   "  What  the  devil's  the 


248  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

reason  the  vain,  stiff-necked,  narrow-minded  women 
of  the  North  have  no  hearts?  For  you  are  only  an 
exception,  going  to  prove  the  rule.  You  Northerners 
are " 

A  swift  anger  flared  up  in  me,  and  I — Oh,  shame 
to  me! — (and,  just  see,  now,  how  quickly  "  evil  com- 
munications corrupt  good  manners")  I  struck  the 
tray  a  blow  that  made  my  fingers  tingle,  as  I  cried, 
violently:  "What  the  deuce  do  you  mean.  General 
Early,  by  attacking  the  people  you  know  nothing 
about?  The  women  of  the  North — the  women  of 
the  North !  I  don't  believe  you  ever  met  a  lady  from 
north  of  your  air-drawn  Mason  and  Dixon's  Line ! 
I  don't  believe  you  ever  came  nearer  to  a  Northern 
woman  than  some  poor  God-forgetting  harpy  of  a 
camp-follower !  Oh,  you  know  the  class  well ;  you  had 
plenty  of  them  in  the  South  who  followed  the  army 
in  grey,  hovering  like  vultures  upon  the  flanks  of 
your  own  hungry  troops !  Creatures  who  had  for- 
gotten girlhood — v/ifehood — almost  their  woman- 
hood! How  would  you  like  it  if  I  judged  the  women 
of  the  South  by  such  creatures?  Make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  few  Northern  women — if  they  will  receive 
you — ^before  you  venture  to  criticise  them  again !  " 

I  can  see  yet  the  utter  astonishment  upon  his  face, 
as,  drawing  a  long  breath,  he  slowly  said:  "Well, 
I'm  damned!  " 

"  You  will  be,"  I  laughed,  "  if  you  go  on  sneering 
at  your  own  countrywomen.  But  I  have  faith  to  be- 
lieve you  would  not  stand  quietly  by  and  permit  a 
foreigner  to  speak  so  of  them?  " 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  249 

"  No,  not  by  a  long  shot !  "  he  quickly  answered, 
and  just  then  a  watery  sunlight  that  yet  paled  the  gas 
came  into  the  room,  and  he  sent  a  surprised  glance 
clockward  and  hastily  rose :  "  I — I — why,  what  have 
I  been  about !  "  he  exclaimed,  confusedly. 

"  You  have  been  giving  me  a  great  pleasure.  Gen- 
eral Early,"  I  replied. 

"  Humph !  Then  you  must  have  some  damned 
original  ideas  on  happiness  in  general." 

I  laughed — he  swore,  but  he  didn't  look  at  all 
alarming. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  he  added,  "  I've  done  all  the 
talking.  I've  dragged  you  clear  from  Chambersburg 
to  Waynesboro;  and  I  can't  lay  the  blame  of  the 
gossip  on  you.  To  talk  like  that  to  a  Northerner, 
when  I  do  just  p'izen-hate  the  North,  and  all " 

"  Forgive  me,  General,  but  I  don't  believe  you. 
No — I  say  no!  You  can't  hate  one  part  of  your 
country — you  can't.  Remember  that  you  loved,  fol- 
lowed and  served  a  flag  with  a  whole  fieldful  of  stars 
long  years  before  you  tried  to  tear  out  from  it  a 
single  star  to  follow  and  serve.  And  now  that  all  are 
back  again — the  field  full  once  more — you  are  glad 
of  it!  Oh,  don't  tell  me — I  know  that,  down  in  your 
heart,  it's  the  whole  flag,  as  it's  the  whole  country, 
that  you  love !  And  this  '  Cause  '  that  is  lost — what 
was  it  but  a  magnificently  awful  mistake,  paid  for  by 
tens  of  thousands  of  American  lives  freely  given  for 
ideal  right — sanctified  by  uncounted  broken  hearts? 
But,  the  '  Cause  '  being  lost,  it  should  be  treated  as 
are  the  beloved  dead,  laid  at  rest  forever.    Remem- 


250  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

bered?  Yes,  tenderly,  regretfully,  but  silently!  Oh, 
General,  I  am  taking  my  turn  at  the  talking,  now. 
But  one  word  more,  and  I'll  let  you  off.  If  only  some 
foreign  power  would  shake  a  threatening  fist  against 
our  flag,  how  quickly  your  old  soldier-heart  would 
prove  to  you  that  you  love  your  country,  in  its 
entirety!  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  You  have  a  sharp  tongue," 
he  remarked,  but  not  roughly,  as  he  stooped  to  pick 
up  his  cane. 

I  begged  his  pardon,  and,  taking  his  hat,  paused 
in  handing  it,  to  ask:  "  Why  do  you  do  this,  Gen- 
eral?" 

He  touched  his  ugly  coat.  "  This?  "  he  inquired, 
with  a  half-smile. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  It's  not  its  artistic  charm 
that  wins  your  fidelity.  Do  you  wear  your  Confeder- 
ate-grey clothing  just  to  be,  as  children  say,  '  ag- 
gravating '?  " 

He  frowned  quickly.  I  went  on.  "  Or  do  you 
wear  it  as  sometimes  a  widow  wears  black  all  her 
life  long,  in  true  mourning  for  her  lost  one?  " 

He  struck  his  hat  into  shape — beneath  his  beard 
his  lips  twitched  nervously. 

"  I  wear  it — in  memory — of — of  many  things,'' 
he  said,  and  there  was  indescribable  bitterness  in  the 
last  two  words. 

"  Forgive  me,"  I  said.  He  pressed  my  hand 
silently,  and  Susie  entered  and  gazed  with  goggle- 
eyes  at  the  clock. 

"  Well,  chucklehead,"  he  snapped,  "  did  you  ex- 


JUBAL  A.  EARLY  251 

pect  to  find  me  dead,  that  you  are  so  disappointed  to 
see  me  living?  " 

"  Good  Lordy !  "  grinned  Susie. 

"  You  are  just  in  time  to  escort  General  Early  to 
his  room,"  I  laughed,  "  and  I  call  on  you  to  witness 
that  he  leaves  this  door  as  sound  and  as  whole  as 
when  he  entered." 

"Here!"  he  said,  "take  this  key  and  open  my 
door,  and  put  some  water  on  the  table."  He  was  fol- 
lowing Susie  down  the  hall  as  he  spoke.  "  And  If 
you  have  any  sense,  you'll  put  my  bootjack  out  of 
reach,  for  you've  been  telling  tales  behind  my  back, 
you  useless  piece  of  lumber!  "  Suddenly  he  turned, 
and  said  to  me: 

"  Thank  you,  for  your  kindly  hospitality!  " 

"  A  large  word  to  express  a  mere  cup  of  tea,"  I 
answered. 

"  I  have  received  more  than  a  cup  of  tea.  You  fed 
me,  you  listened  to  me,  and,  by  the  Almighty,  you 
gave  me  a  pretty  sharp  lesson  about  the  Northern 

women,  but "  He  passed  hat  and  stick  to  his  left 

hand,  straightened  up,  brought  his  heels  together, 
and  honoured  me  with  a  salute  most  soldierly,  as  he 
grimly  added:  "But  I  reckon  I  needed  all  I  got. 
Good  afternoon!"  And  he  marched  downstairs. 

He  left  the  city  for  a  reunion  before  I  did.  As  he 
gave  his  key  Into  Susie's  hand,  he  said:  "  If  they  put 
any  damn'  Northerner  in  my  room,  Susie,  you  kill 
him!  Do  you  hear?  P'izen  him,  and  leave  the  con- 
sequences to  me.  I'll  see  you  through,  and  pay  the 
expenses  of  burying  him  beside,  damn  him !  Good- 


252  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

bye  !  Oh,  I  say — hold  on  a  minute,  Susie — if  they  put 
any  Northerner  in  my  room  except  that  infernal  little 
vixen  upstairs,  do  'em  up!  But  you  can  let  her  slide. 
Good-bye  1  " 

Thus  did  he  modify  his  joke  for  my  sake — this 
devoted,  disappointed  chip  of  the  old  Confederacy. 


XVI 
A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY 

I  HAD  been  successfully  starring  for  several 
seasons  in  the  same  plays  I  had  started  with, 
and  feeling  that  the  patience  of  my  patrons 
deserved  some  reward,  I  determined  to  offer  them  a 
new  play  for  their  entertainment — a  thing,  alas,  that 
was  easier  to  decide  upon  than  actually  to  do,  for,  in 
theatrical  parlance,  it  was  hard  to  "  fit  "  me,  to  suit 
the  public.  Personally,  I  had  always  a  marked  pref- 
erence for  even,  well-balanced,  good  general  work — 
the  perfection  of  the  whole  cast  giving  me  more  pleas- 
ure than  the  most  brilliant  individual  effort  made  in 
a  star  play,  where  the  natural  movement  and  action, 
the  proper  development  of  other  characters  are  some- 
times sacrificed  for  the  enlargement  and  the  glorifica- 
tion of  the  star's  part — a  custom  in  practice  up  to 
the  period  of  Monsieur  Rostand's  great  vogue  in 
America,  when  his  "  Cyrano  de  Bergerac  "  received 
a  second  production  In  New  York,  and  to  the  stupe- 
faction of  the  literary  and  artistic  world,  many  of  the 
hero's  noblest  lines,  his  strongest  speeches  came  from 
the  lips  of  Cynthia.  It  was  Inartistic,  absurd,  but  the 
lady  was  the  star  and  the  manager  knew  that  the 
public  expected  much  from  a  favourite;  the  part  was 
not  very  prominent  and  he  took  drastic  measures  to 
make  it  so. 

You  see,  the  public  does  not  value  general  excel- 
253 


254  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

lence  so  highly  as  individual  effort  on  the  part  of  the 
man  or  woman  who  is  their  favourite  star.  Again, 
if  there  is  the  slightest  touch  of  the  peculiar,  the 
unusual,  about  an  actor  or  an  actress — if  one  chances 
to  be  a  brilliant  fencer,  or  has  an  exceptionally  gurg- 
ling, mellow  laugh,  or  sheds  real  tears  in  harrowing 
situations — never,  never  will  that  unhappy  star  quite 
satisfy  the  public  in  a  play  that  does  not  demand  a 
fight,  much  laughter,  or  a  flood  of  tears.  i\ll  this  I 
knew  when  I  began  looking  for  that  new  play  on  this 
side  of  the  water,  while  any  and  every  friend  I  had 
on  the  other  side  searched  diligently  through  English 
and  French  haystacks  for  a  dramatic  needle  suited 
to  my  use.  But,  alas,  I  was  known  as  a  strong  actress, 
and  also  as  a  shedder  of  tears,  and  had  mighty  Will, 
himself,  risen  from  the  grave  to  offer  me  a  play  with- 
out tears  then  would  the  people  have  said:  "  Yes,  it's 
very  fine,  but  she  does  not  make  us  cry.  Give  us  the 
old  plays,  where  we  can  surely  weep  for  four  out  of 
five  acts." 

At  last  I  heard  of  "La  Martyre,"  in  Paris — a 
daughter's  self-sacrifice  to  save  a  beloved  mother, 
whose  youthful  sin  is  about  to  find  her  out.  Ah !  that 
looked  promisingly  teary,  but  the  Jezebels,  the  Coras, 
the  Miss  Multons  had  made  the  public  expect  strong 
scenes.  Were  they  forthcoming,  I  wondered?  Finally 
learning  that  there  was  a  shooting  in  my  presence,  a 
dismissal  from  home  and  child,  and  a  piteous  plea  for 
permission  to  meet  the  daughter  secretly  at  the  grand- 
parents' home,  I  determined  to  risk  all,  and  an- 
nounced that  I  would  produce  the  play  in  San  Fran- 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  255 

CISCO,  calling  it,  at  my  manager's  advice,  "  Renee  de 
Moray  " — the  name  of  the  heroine. 

I  had  my  gowns  made  in  New  York  and  to  my 
great  regret  had  to  proceed  on  my  journey  westward 
before  the  play's  production  in  New  York,  where  it 
was  in  preparation,  with  one  of  those  amazingly  fine 
casts  that  Mr.  Palmer  was  noted  for.  Watching 
eagerly  for  its  premiere,  imagine  my  crushed  stupe- 
faction when  it  failed.  There  was  no  mincing  of  mat- 
ters, no  ifs  or  huts.  Beautiful  scenery,  perfect  cos- 
tuming, people  specially  engaged  for  some  of  the 
characters,  careful  rehearsing — all  had  gone  for 
nothing ! 

The  Improbability  of  this  play — which  was  great, 
be  it  admitted — alone  impressed  the  audience.  I  was 
aghast !  What,  I  asked  myself,  could  I  do  in  the  way 
of  a  production  to  compare  with  Mr.  Palmer's  effort? 
Then  I  began  to  hunt  for  the  cause  of  the  failure. 
1  studied  the  story  of  the  play  carefully.  The  weak 
point  was  quickly  found.  Many  a  daughter  would 
sacrifice  herself  to  save  a  beloved  mother  (the  mother 
remaining  unconscious  of  the  service),  but  when  that 
daughter  is  happily  married,  is  herself  the  proud 
mother  of  a  girl-child;  when  the  assuming  of  the 
elder  woman's  sin  means  the  breaking  up  of  home 
and  the  dishonouring  of  worshipped  husband  and 
child — why  that  is  unnatural,  if  one  stops  to  think. 
Ah!  1  repeated  the  words,  "  If  one  stops  to  think!  " 
Probably  that  was  what  had  killed  the  play.  The 
actors  were  too  calm,  too  collected — they  gave  the 
house  time  to  think,  to  discover  the  improbability  of 


256  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

a  woman  making  such  a  martyr  of  herself.  Only  the 
headlong  impetuosity  of  a  sentimental  and  intensely 
affectionate  temperament,  an  utter  abandonment  to 
her  emotions,  done  with  absolute  sincerity,  could 
sweep  an  audience  on  a  great  wave  of  sympathy  high 
into  that  region  where  reason  is  for  a  time  lost  in 
excitement  and  emotion.  Then  I  looked  eagerly  at 
the  cast  and  saw  that  for  Renee  Mr.  Palmer  had 
engaged  one  of  the  finest  high-comedy  women  on  the 
stage,  but  who  was  noted  for  her  coldness  in  emo- 
tional characters.  My  faith  in  the  play  began  to 
revive.  Still  I  offered  to  recall  Its  announcement  if 
the  California  management  desired  me  to.  The  gist 
of  their  answer  was  "  that  I  might  withdraw  the  play 
if  I  was  afraid  of  It." 

There  they  had  stepped  on  the  tall  of  my  coat — 
pugilism  was  In  the  air  at  that  time.  I  forgot  my 
good  manners  and  answered  that  I  "  never  threw  my 
hat  Into  the  ring  unless  I  Intended  to  follow  It  In  per- 
son," an  expression  that  brought  joy  to  the  hearts  of 
the  "  powers  that  were,"  and  they  answered:  "  '  Renee 
de  Moray  '  announced  for  second  week  and  we're 
betting  on  you." 

Thus,  with  that  dreadful  anxiety,  that  to  be  or  not 
to  be  a  success,  ever  In  my  mind  and  making  of  me  a 
vraie  martyre,  I  took  Renee  by  the  hand,  and  turning 
our  backs  upon  Chicago  we  faced  westward  toward 
the  Great  Divide,  the  rolling  prairies,  the  stultefying 
deserts,  the  irritating  snow-sheds,  the  glorious  Sierras 
and  the  downward  swoop  to  the  great  City  of  the 
Coast,  where  hand-in-hand  we  would  face  our  public 


I 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  257 

and  try  to  stampede  It  Into  such  a  rush  of  sympathy 
that  logic  should  be  forgotten — until  next  day. 

Later  on  I  made  the  trip  to  California  In  a  private 
car,  thereby  enjoying  all  the  privacy  and  most  of  the 
comforts  of  home  life  while  travelling,  but  It  cer- 
tainly was  a  bit  monotonous  compared  to  this  jour- 
ney, which  proved  one  of  the  liveliest  on  record.  As 
I  was  just  recovering  from  an  attack  of  slngle-pneu- 
monla,  my  husband  was  anxious  to  establish  me  com- 
fortably In  my  stateroom  before  the  starting  of  the 
train.  Having  done  so,  he  and  the  maid  had  no 
sooner  left  me  to  attend  to  checking  and  some  small 
last  matters  than  a  great  hubbub  arose  at  my  very 
door.  The  conductor,  with  patient  self-control,  was 
receiving  the  hysterical  attack  of  one  of  those 
wealthy,  boastful  American  women  whom  I  had  been 
meeting  for  years  In  foreign  novels,  but  had  never, 
never  encountered  in  real  life  before.  She  was  the 
wife,  she  declared  of  Mr.  Great-man,  who  was  a 
millionaire  more  times  than  the  conductor  had  fingers 
and  thumbs.  She  had  In  her  own  right  more  money 
than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of.  She  demanded  that 
that  stateroom  be  cleared  out  at  once,  that  her  maid 
might  arrange  It  for  occupancy !  Did  he  suppose  that 
she  was  going  to  sleep  In  a  section-berth  like  a  com- 
mon person?  She,  who  could  pay  three  times  the 
usual  price,  and  by  right  of  her  position  and  her  hus- 
band's power  the  room  was  hers !  Where  was  his 
authority  for  favouring  this  nobody  at  the  cost  of  her 
convenience?  Higher  and  higher  arose  the  nasal 
tones,   angrily  she   repulsed  someone   who   tried  to 


258  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

calm  her!  Greatly  distressed,  I  arose  from  the  sofa 
and,  opening  the  door,  anxiously  asked  the  conductor 
if  I  was  unconsciously  encroaching  on  another's 
rights  ? 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  replied.  "  Your  room  was  en- 
gaged more  than  forty-eight  hours  before  this  lady 
asked  for  it.  She  can  secure  staterooms  clear  through 
to  'Frisco  by  waiting  until  to-morrow,"  and  very 
gently  he  pushed  me  back  toward  my  pillowed  nest 
on  the  sofa.  And  just  then,  as  the  excited  lady 
stamped  her  foot  and  ordered  me  to  withdraw  at 
once,  a  messenger  ran  alongside  the  train  calling ! 
"  Clara  Morris!   Is  Clara  Morris  in  this  car?  " 

"  Oh!  "  exclaimed  Madam  Millions,  grasping  the 
wrist  of  her  companion,  "  oh,  is  she  on  board?  How 
lovely !    We  must  get  a  good  look  at  her !  " 

And  then  the  conductor  called  out :  "  This  way — 
here  she  is !  "  and  handed  the  message  to  me.  There 
came  a  sound  like  the  sudden  squawk  of  a  startled 
hen,  then  a  gasping  cry:  "Salts!"  One  single  in- 
halation followed,  and  in  that  Instant  of  time  she  had 
shifted  her  position — had  turned  her  coat.  With 
quivering  voice  she  commanded  her  companion  to 
"  follow  that  conductor,  get  his  number  and  his  name. 
I  know  he  doesn't  go  clear  through,  but  he  shall  be 
punished  all  the  same,  as  he  deserves  to  be,  placing 
me  in  a  false  position,  deceiving  me  into  a  seeming 
Insult  to  one  I  admire  and  honour !  Oh,  my  husband 
will  see  that  he  suffers !  "  She  broke  from  her  friends ; 
she  pushed  into  my  room  to  ask  "  If  I  ever  knew  of 
such  malice  as  that  man  had  shown — hiding  my  name 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  259 

from  her,  and  leading  her  on  by  false  statements  to 
make  unkind  suggestions  of  removal?  But,"  she 
closed,  "  I  am  a  very  wealthy  woman,  Miss  Morris, 
and  he  shall  suffer  for  causing  you  such  needless  an- 
noyance. Let  me  cover  you  up — don't  you  want  my 
salts?  "  etc.,  etc.,  and  that  was  the  beginning  of  the 
journey. 

Next,  I  was  told  that  one  of  the  star  criminals  of 
the  great  West — the  unwilling  guest  of  a  too  zealous 
sheriff — had  been  ushered  into  our  car,  causing  a 
great  flutter  there;  and  I  rose  from  my  sofa  and, 
drawing  aside  the  door-curtain,  stood  swaying  back 
and  forth  while  I  tried  to  peep  at  the  wrongdoer  who 
had  been  taken  in  the  toils  and  was  on  his  way  now 
to  an  undoubted  life  sentence.  But  look  as  I  would  I 
could  not  find  the  prisoner.  In  one  man  I  saw  the 
ideal  Western  sheriff,  but  there  was  a  fair-haired 
young  chap  beside  him  who  would  not  fill  the  bill  at 
all.  At  last  I  walked  out  to  the  end  of  the  car,  osten- 
sibly looking  for  my  husband;  on  my  way  back  I  met 
the  conductor  and  a  little  girl,  and  we  stood  chatting 
a  moment.  I  was  wearing  a  rather  peculiar  bracelet, 
formed  as  a  horseshoe,  the  open  space  being  filled 
with  a  horse's  bit.  The  conductor  declared  it  a  per- 
fect design  for  a  man's  bracelet,  at  which  the  little 
girl  was  contemptuous  over  the  idea  of  a  man  wear- 
ing such  a  thing. 

"  Oh!  "  I  laughed,  *'  the  first  gentleman  of  Eng- 
land wears  one !  "  and  then  a  clear,  well-modulated 
voice  beside  me  added:  "Oh,  yes,  sissy,  and  Tum- 
Tum  is  not  the  only  man  to  wear  a  bracelet  by  a  long 


26o  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

shot.  Why,  we  wear  them  over  here  sometimes,  only 
the  devil  of  it  is  they  are  made  double  here  I  " 

I  glanced  at  the  speaker.  He  was  the  fair-haired 
chap,  and  he  wore  the  shameful  bracelets  of  the  crim- 
inal. There's  something  revolting  in  the  sight  of  a 
manacled  human  being,  and  the  surprise  turned  me 
very  white,  I  know,  for  he  leaned  forward  and  said 
quickly :  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  thought  everybody 
knew."  And  I  stammered  stupidly,  "  Pardon  me!  " 
and  hastened  back  to  my  room,  thoroughly  ashamed 
that  I  had  yielded  to  such  curiosity. 

The  time  passed  slowly.  The  horse  thief  and  forger 
outside  was  behaving  well — no  trouble  at  all — ^but  he 
was  bored  to  extinction,  and  so  was  everyone  else  for 
that  matter,  who  could  not  play  cards  day  and  night 
both.  As  the  afternoon  was  closing  in  the  porter 
brought  me  a  note  from  the  sheriff,  who  wrote  that 
his  prisoner,  never  expecting  to  see  the  outside  world 
after  next  week,  never  expecting  to  meet  an  inter- 
esting human  being  again,  begged  of  my  charity  a 
little  chat,  asking  it  only  in  the  name  of  the  good 
woman  he  had  called  "  Mother."  The  sheriff 
added, "  that  '  Doc  '  (as  he  called  him) ,  had  behaved 
so  mighty  well  since  he  had  been  nabbed  for  his 
funny  business  with  a  stage  and  a  Wells-Fargo  box, 
that  he'd  like  to  make  things  pleasant  for  him  if  he 
could,  and  the  day  was  dull  even  for  a  free  man." 

I  consulted  my  husband.  He  asked:  "  Do  you 
want  to  talk  to  the  man?  " 

I  thought  that  a  stage  robber,  horse  thief  and 
forger,   who  found  the  end  of  his  tether  fastened 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  261 

securely  to  a  prison  door,  might  prove  interesting; 
but  if  he  objected,  why 

"Oh,  no!  everyone  to  their  taste,"  he  laughed. 
"  Go  on  and  talk,  but  don't  expect  him  to  lower  his 
mask  for  you." 

Directly  then  I  dropped  into  the  seat  behind  the 
sheriff  and  the  fair-haired  chap,  who  was  so  many 
kinds  of  a  bad  man.  Many  people  had  begged  pillows 
from  the  porter  and  were  napping.  Two  women  were 
knitting.  The  engine  seemed  to  be  making  up  lost 
time,  judging  from  the  unusual  speed.  The  prisoner 
was  chatting  away  about  the  comfortable  arrange- 
ments of  the  interior  of  one  of  the  old  waggons 
known  as  "  prairie  schooners  "  in  the  old  days,  and  in 
his  effort  to  face  me  he  several  times  hurt  his  hand- 
cuffed wrist  to  the  wincing  point.  At  length  the 
sheriff,  glancing  out  at  the  flying  landscape,  laughed 
a  little,  and  unlocking  the  bracelet  from  his  own  wrist, 
arose  and  said  good-naturedly:  "Take  my  place, 
Doc,  and  talk  comfortably;  I'll  sit  over  here." 

We  both  stared  at  him  in  amazement,  but  as  he 
sank  into  the  seat  opposite  he  pushed  his  coat  out  of 
the  way  and  sat  with  his  hand  resting  on  his  hip- 
pocket.  He  was  not  taking  such  chances  after  all. 

Doc's  eyes  and  mine  met,  and  in  a  flash  each  read 
the  other's  thought.  He  smiled  and  asked:  "  Did  you 
ever  catch  a  weazel  asleep?  " 

And  I  smiled  back:  "  Not  in  a  Pullman  car." 

We  told  stories,  he  stroking  my  little  dog's  head. 
I  told  him  some  canine  adventure,  but  he  screwed  up 
his  face  into  a  laughable  sort  of  deprecation,  saying: 


262  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

"  He  didn't  bank  much  on  dogs,  since  the  hounds  had 
run  him  down  after  his  last  job."  I  shivered.  "  What 
a  sensitive  woman  you  are,"  he  said.  "  I  should  think 
your  profession  would  tear  you  all  to  pieces.  But 
you're  right  enough.  It's  an  awful  thing  to  be  tracked 
by  dogs,  which  have  become  a  single  sense  personi- 
fied; which  take  no  heed  of  hunger,  thirst,  darkness, 
nor  light;  which,  between  heaven  and  hell,  recognise 
just  two  things,  the  master's  voice  that  says:  'Seek! 
Find !  '  and  the  scent,  that  is  your  scent — the  trail 
that  you  must  either  swim  or  fly  to  avoid  leaving  be- 
hind you." 

His  breath  came  quickly,  like  a  man's  who  had 
been  running.  Suddenly  I  leaned  forward  and  touched 
the  shameful  thing  upon  his  wrist:  "Oh!"  I  ex- 
claimed, "  why,  why  did  you  ever  do  It?  " 

Again  he  twisted  up  his  face:  "  Why?  I  guess,"  he 
answered,  "  It  was  because  of  too  much  and  too  hard 
religion  from  dad,  and  too  much  bad  company  right 
round  the  corner.  Ministers  always  seem  to  think 
they  are  all  heaven  and  their  boys  are  all  hell." 

"But  your  mother?"  I  interrupted. 

"  Mother  was  all  right,"  he  sharply  answered. 
"  She  was  fair  to  a  fellow.  She  used  to  tell  dad  that 
when  young  blood  danced  and  all  the  bones  and 
muscles  were  growing,  a  boy  just  had  to  jump  and 
rush  and  caper;  that  he  couldn't  walk  slow  and  be 
solemn  and  silent,  even  on  Lord's  day.  Oh;  she  was 
the  best  woman,  she "  He  stopped  short  and  in- 
stinctively tried  to  draw  the  steel  bracelet  up  into  his 
sleeve. 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  263 

"  Yet  you're "  I  reproached. 

*'  Oh !  "  he  interrupted,  "  she  died,  you  know,  and 
then — well  after  you  once  begin  you  can't  stop,  be- 
cause, you  see,  you  never  begin  alone !  There's  always 
some  chump  who  knows,  and  can  betray  you  if  you 
try  to  draw  back."  Then  a  sullen  frown  came  on  his 
face:  "  Prison  for  life!  "  He  looked  off  at  the  red- 
dening west :  "  No  more  sunrise  or  sunset — no  !  no  !  " 
he  swallowed  hard;  then,  almost  violently,  he  con- 
tinued: "  And  do  you  know  that  there  were  fool  men, 
back  there  at  Omaha,  who  came  to  congratulate  me 
— good  God !  to  congratulate  me  that  I  was  so  sure 
to  miss  a  death  sentence !  I  wonder  if  you  can  under- 
stand at  all?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  knew  a  murderer  once,"  I  started, 
when  he  cried  out,  "What,  you?  You  knew  a  mur- 
derer?" "Yes,"  I  answered,  "I  used  to  play  with 
the  sheriff's  little  son  about  the  jail  corridors,  and 
this  man  mangled  himself  horribly  with  a  tiny  pen- 
knife, In  an  effort,  paradoxical  as  It  sounds,  to  kill 
himself  to  prevent  the  executioner  from  doing  it." 

A  sort  of  flame  sprang  into  his  light  blue  eyes,  of 
a  sudden  his  lips  pressed  into  a  tense  line. 

"  Right!  "  he  sharply  exclaimed.  "  Right,  he  was! 
Why,  you  ought  to  understand  that;  and  I  believe 
you  do,  too !  It  wasn't  the  mere  dying  that  kept  the 
fellow  awake  nights,  for  all  stand  to  die  sometime  I 
And  we — the  boys  who  write  too  well  for  our  own 
good,  and  toy  with  other  people's  horses,  and  are 
hunted  quite  as  often  as  we  hunt — expect  to  step  up 
lively  when  we  pass  in  our  checks !   No,  a  man's  not 


264  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

afraid  to  die,  but;  by  thunder,  you  don't  want  to  be 
trussed  up  like  a  fowl,  and  then  have  some  measly 
fellow  Avith  dirty  hands  sling  a  rope  around  your 
neck  and  shove  you  through  a  trap  to  twirl  in  the  air 

like  a  d d  sheep-kllling  dog!  You  want  to  die 

like  a  man,  not  like  a  cur,  and  a  chap  feels  some  self- 
respect   when   he  bosses   his   own   job.  If   I   had   a 

chance "  his  eyes  turned  toward  the  figure  of  the 

sheriff,  who  sat,  his  left  elbow  on  the  window  sill,  the 
hand  supporting  his  drooping  head.  Were  his 
eyes  closed?  With  stealthy  swiftness  Doc  arose, 
to  find  the  sheriff's  face  grimly  smiling  into  his 
and  the  sheriff's  revolver  pointing  straight  at  his 
heart. 

An  Instant  they  stood,  then  very  quietly:  "  I 
wanted  a  drink,"  said  the  bad  man. 

"  Oh,"  responded  the  watchful  one  jocosely,  "  I 
thought  perhaps  you  were  going  to  call  my  attention 
to  our  lessening  speed?"  This  with  a  malicious 
glance  toward  the  free  hands  of  the  prisoner.  "  Well, 
I'll  have  the  water  brought  to  you."  And  under  my 
breath  I  remarked:  "  It  didn't  work,  did  it?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  not  that  time,"  and  I  be- 
lieve his  captor  had  given  him  an  idea,  for  from  that 
moment  he  began  to  talk  at  random.  He  had  been 
pale,  but  a  spot  of  colour  was  soon  burning  upon  his 
rather  prominent  cheek  bones.  Hitherto  his  had 
been  the  frank,  open  manner  of  the  well-brought-up 
middle-class  young  Western  'man,  now  a  subtle  change 
was  coming  over  him;  his  voice  lowered,  his  pale 
eyes  had  a  greenish  glare  In  them,  and  they  stole  side 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  265 

glances  beneath  narrow  lids  that  quivered  slightly.  I 
began  to  see  this  man's  relation  to  the  great  cat  tribe 
stealthy,  strong,  flexible,  cruel.  He  was  passing  his 
tongue  over  his  parched  lips,  was  speaking  broken 
sentences,  while  his  nostrils  quivered  and  expanded. 
The  man  was  laying  some  desperate  plan.  I  was  so 
sure  that  involuntarily  I  whispered  to  him :  "  Don't  I 
don't  do  it!" 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly,  then  went  on :  "  Yes,  he 

was  right,  that  murderous  friend  of  yours "  then 

suddenly  he  pressed  his  hand  to  his  stomach  and  bent 
over.  Mr.  Sheriff  was  at  his  elbow  instantly.  "  Too 
many  railway  doughnuts,"  groaned  Doc. 

"  Have  a  drop  of  this  brandy,"  advised  the 
friendly  sheriff. 

*'  We  are  nearing  the  supper  station,"  I  remarked, 
"  and  I  must  go  and  prink  a  little." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  suddenly  sick  man,  "  how  like  the 
old  Iowa  home  those  words  sound,  '  to  prink.'  " 

I  arose  to  go.  The  sheriff  stooped  to  lock  the 
prisoner's  wrist  to  his  own.  At  my  stateroom  door 
I  turned  my  head.  The  prisoner's  eyes  were  glaring 
greenly  at  me,  and  like  lightning  the  forefinger  of  his 
free  hand  flashed  to  his  lips,  pleading,  cautioning, 
warning — all  were  in  that  swift,  secret  gesture. 

I  sank  trembling  onto  the  couch.  I  wanted  no 
supper.  "Ought  I  to  speak?"  I  asked  myself.  But 
speak  of  what?  What  had  I  to  tell?  Only  a  change 
of  manner,  a  single  gesture.  I  wiped  my  forehead 
and  started  surprisedly.  The  scent  of  tobacco  clung 
to  the  handkerchief  I  had  picked  up  instead  of  my 


266  '  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

own.  I  dropped  it  with  a  nervous  shiver,  then  sat 
and  waited. 

Supper  was  over.  People  were  settling  for  evening 
games  or  chats,  for  we  were  off  again.  Then  I  heard 
through  the  rear  door  of  my  stateroom  the  satisfied 
voice  of  the  thief-taker.  He  was  answering  the  ques- 
tions of  one  who  had  come  aboard  at  the  last  station : 
"  Yes,  thank  God,  this  was  his  last  night  of  responsi- 
bility. He  would  have  passed  his  man  over  to  the 
prison  officials  this  time  to-morrow.  No,  he  had  never 
lost  sight  of  his  prisoner,  even  for  a  moment  before, 
but  he  was  a  pretty  sick  man  this  evening,  and  he  was 
therefore  allowed  the  privilege  of  entering  the  wash- 
room alone;  but,"  he  added,  "  the  speed  of  the  train 
and  the  revolver  at  the  door  made  that  safe  enough. 
Still — yes,  he'  was  staying  rather  a  long  time."  And 
the  sheriff  knocked,  calling:  "  Come  Doc,  if  you 
feel  seedy  yet,  better  come  and  lie  down."  (Knock, 
knock.)  "Oh,  Doc!"  a  suddenly  tried  knob,  and 
then  between  desperate  kicks  at  the  panels  of  the 
locked  door  the  repeated  cry:  "  An  axe!  an  axe!  " 

*'  T-that  axe's  only  to  be  used  in  case  of  fire  or 
accident,  sir !  "  stammered  the  porter,  "  but  I  can 
unlock " 

He  never  finished.  The  door  burst  open — the 
room  was  empty !  A  wild  cry  rang  through  the  car. 
With  a  ghastly  face  the  sheriff  hurled  himself  at  the 
bell-cord,  jerking  it  like  a  madman  to  an  accompani- 
ment of  sulphurous  oaths.  The  passengers  were 
thrown  into  a  turmoil.  The  train  was  stopped,  was 
searched,  then  it  was  backed,  and  women  began  to 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  267 

cry  or  to  turn  faint  over  mental  pictures  of  what 
might  be  found  out  there.  We  stopped  again  and  the 
confusion  was  transferred  to  the  outside.  Lanterns 
were  bobbing  in  the  darkness.  Suddenly  I  heard  a 
voice  saying:  "He's  just  bringing  them  up  from 
Green  River.  They're  right  in  the  baggage-car,  and 
he'll  lay  'em  on  for  you  if  you'd  like." 

With  oath-garnished  gratitude  the  frantic  sheriff 
accepted  his  offer,  which  meant  bloodhounds,  and 
next  moment  he  was  tearing  into  the  car  searching 
for  something  of  Doc's  that  would  give  "  a  scent " 
to  the  two  gaunt,  long-eared  brutes  who  were  being 
led  out  for  a  man-hunt.  With  a  gasp  I  caught  up  the 
handkerchief  and  thrust  it  deep,  deep  into  the  dress- 
ing-bag, and  then  sat  immovable,  watching,  listen- 
ing, wondering!  The  wires  were  hot  with  messages, 
men  were  hot  with  profane  argument;  but  ours  was  a 
fast-mail  train,  and  on  we  went,  leaving  men  on  horse- 
back and  men  on  foot,  aided  by  melancholy,  lop-eared 
hounds,  and  lighted  by  torches  and  lanterns,  who 
searched  either  side  the  track  for  what  might  be  left 
of  the  fair-haired  bad  man,  who  had  preferred  to 
"  step  up  lively  and  pass  in  his  checks  "  by  way  of  a 
car-window  and  a  flying  leap  to  death,  rather  than 
moulder  through  the  sunless  years  of  a  life  imprison- 
ment !  And  being  sleepless  all  that  night,  I  filled  the 
hours  with  study  of  the  second  act  of  "  Renee  de 
Moray,"  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  ever  after.  In 
the  shooting  of  Claude  Burel,  I  saw  not  the  face  of 
the  man  who  acted  him  but  the  glaring  eye,  the  dilat- 
ing nostril  and  warning,  pleading  gesture  of  the  man 


268  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

who  had  that  night  made  himself  part  of  the  mighty 
mystery  of  the  plains,  the  silent  plains,  that  seem  to 
be  stricken  dumb  by  the  stupendous  import  of  the 
message  they  may  hold  for  man ! 

Wrapped  in  a  gauze  veil,  the  feathered,  laced,  and 
ribboned  hat  I  had  worn  to  the  train  hung  safely 
out  of  the  way,  for  my  hurried  platform  walks  at 
various  stations  I  donned  a  small  Scotch  cap  I  had 
brought  from  Edinburgh  for  steamer  comfort,  the 
bonnet  known  to  some  as  the  Glengarry.  Among  the 
very  closest  of  my  friends  there  was  a  soldier  who  had 
gained  an  uncomfortable  knowledge  of  Chief  Joseph, 
that  had  been  bought  in  the  Nez  Percez  campaign. 
At  my  request  he  had  given  me  the  tarnished, 
battered  regimental  badge  from  the  front  of  the  old 
cap  that  had  been  soaked  by  rains  and  scorched  by 
suns  and  often  used  as  a  dipper  at  the  finding  of 
precious  water,  that  drop  for  drop  was  of  greater 
value  than  molten  rubies  could  have  been,  and  I  had 
pinned  the  crossed  muskets  and  the  regimental  num- 
ber in  the  front  of  my  own  cap.  Next  morning  after 
the  escape  I  was  tramping  up  and  down  the  platform 
when  two  men  passed,  and  one,  glancing  at  me  a 
second  time,  stopped  suddenly,  drew  his  heels  to- 
gether and  gave  me  a  military  salute.  I  smiled  at  his 
mistaking  me  for  someone  else  and  continued  my 
exercise.  So,  coming  again  upon  the  men,  both  of 
whom  were  somewhat  in  liquor  and  working  hard  to 
pick  a  fight  with  the  station  loungers,  when  someone 
called  out,  "  Let  the  lady  pass!  "  Both  men  turned 
and  seeing  me,  straightened  up,  shoulder  to  shoulder. 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  269 

eyes  front,  while  with  tipsy  gravity  they  saluted  with 
the  sharp  precision  of  mechanical  toys.  Then,  indeed, 
was  I  angry,  for  no  one  living  is  more  sensitive  to 
ridicule  than  I  am.  I  started  off  in  search  of  my  lord 
and  master,  but  was  met  by  the  porter  who,  with  the 
familiarity  of  his  class,  addressed  me  as  Miss  Cla'h 
and  asked  what  was  the  matter.  I  told  him  and,  hot 
with  anger  and  swelling  with  importance,  he  proceeded 
to  look  into  the  matter  while  I  returned  to  the  car. 
In  a  few  moments  the  darky  was  back  crying:  "  Miss 
Cla'h,  dey  ain't  no  ornary,  low-down  fellows  tryin' 
to  plague  you;  dey's  mighty  proud,  'case  you-all's 
come  from  de  same  State.  Yes'm,  dey's  Ohio  men, 
and — and  dey  sent  you  a  message,  Miss  Cla'h,  only 
I  ain't  goin'  to  give  it  to  yer  till  I  see  your  little 
cap. 

"My  cap!"  I  cried,  glancing  toward  it.  He 
picked  it  up,  looked  at  it  a  moment  and  broke  into 
the  contagious  laughter  of  his  race,  saying:  "  I'se 
bound  to  give  you  that  message  now,  for  sure.  Dey's 
Uncle  Sam's  boys,  Miss  Cla'h,  an'  dey  say,  very 
'spectful,  dey  like  to  give  you  de  tip — dat  if  you 
don'  want  to  be  saluted  by  any  soldiers  you  meet 
you  mustn't  wear  de  badge  of  de  21st  Infantry  on  de 
front  porch  of  your  cap.  For,  you  see,  dey-all  be- 
longs to  de  2 1  St  deyselves." 

And  then  apologies  were  in  order,  and  they  came 
from  me. 

After  that  I  devoted  myself  steadily  to  "  Renee  de 
Moray,"  and  having  a  quick  study  was  rough  perfect 
when  we  found  ourselves  nearing  the  end  of  our  long 


2  70  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

journey,  and  I  said  to  myself:  "  In  this  last  quiet  lap 
of  our  run,  with  nothing  more  to  upset  my  tired 
nerves,  I  can  make  myself  unshakingly  letter-perfect 
in  my  lines,  and  thus  be  free  to  devote  all  my  thought 
to  the  directing  of  the  coming  rehearsals."  Ah,  that 
was  a  wise  person  who  so  earnestly  advised  against 
the  practice  of  counting  chickens  before  they  were 
hatched.  With  jest  and  laughter,  exchanging  mutual 
congratulations  upon  its  being  the  last  station  dinner 
we  would  have  to  reckon  with,  we  were  rising  from 
the  table  when  the  inevitable  practical  joker,  seeing  a 
train  moving  In  the  opposite  direction  to  our  own, 
thrust  his  head  into  the  dining-room  and  yelled:  "  All 
aboard!  Look  lively!  Your  train's  moving!  " 

Those  who  noted  the  presence  of  our  own  train- 
crew  at  their  corner  table  merely  smiled,  but,  alas ! 
one  young  girl  sprang  up.  There  was  a  startled  cry, 
a  crash  of  china,  and  then  she  was  flying  out  of  the 
door,  across  the  open  space  straight  toward  the  track 
and  the  moving  cars.  "Come  back!  stop!"  cried 
many  voices.  The  train-men  leapt  to  their  feet  and 
dashed  after  her.  The  grey-haired  conductor  shouted : 
"  Child!  child!  for  God  Almighty's  sake,  that's  not 
your  train."  I  heard  one  great,  united,  agonising 
shout  of  "  Don't!  don't  "  cut  across  by  a  shrill  shriek 
that  something  stopped  in  mid-utterance,  then  silence 
fell.  My  husband's  arm  was  about  me,  his  shaken 
voice  was  saying  quietly:  "Turn  the  other  way, 
Clara;  we  will  just  go  back  by  that  lower  path,"  and 
sick  at  heart  I  realised  he  was  trying  to  spare  me  the 
sight  of  something  on  the  upper  path.  Two  fainting 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  271 

women  were  being  carried  back  to  our  train.  Then, 
as  I  knew  he  would  do,  the  porter  came  to  me,  grey- 
looking  and  stammering,  to  tell  one  all  he  knew  of 
the  dreadful  happening:  "'For'  God,  Miss  Cla'h," 
he  said,  "  dat's  de  worst  ting  Fve  seen  yet.  Dat  little 
red-cheeked  girl,  only  sixteen  years  old,  jist  out  from 
Ireland,  poor  and  pretty,  friendless  and — and  dere 
she  lies,  white  as  a  stone  image,"  he  gulped  hard  a 
moment,  "  with  one  leg  left  for  her  to  hobble  on  like 
a  little  hurt  sparrow !  " 

"Oh,  poor  child!  poor  little  Irish  lass!  crippled 
in  a  strange  land!  "  I  whispered  tearfully.  Dreadful 
details  were  given  till  I  begged  for  mercy.  Then  he 
assured  me  she  had  been  going  out  to  service,  and 
was  alone  in  the  world.  They  would  take  her  to  the 
hospital  in  'Frisco  now,  "  but  Lord,  Miss  Cla'h,  dey 
don't  keep  'em  dere  long,  and  den  what's  to  'come  of 
her?  And  even  in  de  hospital  it's  hard  to  be  without 
a  cent!  " 

"  But,"  I  asked,  "  has  not  that  wealthy  California 
lady  offered  to  help  her?  " 

"  No,  mum,  she  hasn't!  "  he  snapped  angrily. 

"Perhaps  she  has  not  heard  her  story  yet?"  I 
suggested. 

"  Yes,  she  has,  too!  "  he  contradicted.  "  I  heard  de 
conductor  telling  her,  and  she  said  '  it  was  very  sad, 
and  such  mishaps  were  trying  to  delicate  nerves,'  but 
she  never  offered  a  picayune  for  her  help." 

I  found  in  the  almost  empty  maw  of  my  pocket- 
book  one  lean,  lonely  live-dollar  bill,  but  an  idea  came 
to  me.  I  begged  the  porter  to  get  me  an  envelope, 


2  72  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

and  then  scribbled  on  a  card :  "  For  one  month  I  can 
be  found  at  the  Palace  Hotel  or  at  the  Baldwin 
Theatre.  A  note  from  your  doctor  or  nurse  will  con- 
mand  any  service  in  my  power,  any  comfort  or  con- 
venience you  may  need,  and  pray  have  no  hesitation 
in  addressing  one  who  sympathises  with  you  from 
her  heart."  The  bill  and  the  card  I  slipped  into  the 
envelope  and  the  porter  promised  to  put  it  into  the 
afflicted  girl's  hand.  He  came  back  directly  to  say 
that,  drugged  with  opiates,  she  was  unconscious,  but 
he  had  pinned  the  envelope  to  the  bosom  of  her  gown. 

When  I  felt  a  little  less  shaken  I  tried  once  more 
to  resume  my  study.  Some  hours  had  passed  when, 
oh,  good  gracious!  the  wretched  porter  came  to  my 
room  and,  stammering  and  stuttering  broken  apolo- 
gies for  "  de  mistake  "  and  blaming  "  some  fool  fel- 
low that  told  him  so  anyhow,"  he  gave  me  a  letter. 
I  read  and  I  burned  from  my  head  to  my  feet.  There 
was  a  five-dollar  bill  enclosed — not  mine,  as  I  saw  at 
a  glance,  but  still  a  bill  for  five  dollars — and  the 
note  said:  "  My  poor  young  niece  was  sent  out  to  us 
to  become  our  daughter,  if  she  felt  contented  here, 
and  I  came  a  day's  ride  up  the  road  to  meet  and 
welcome  her,  and  I  have  found  a  maimed  and,  I 
greatly  fear,  a  dying  child.  A  mistaken  story  reached 
every  ear,  but  no  one  heeded  it  but  you.  So  long  as 
we  live  we  will  keep  that  bill,  and  will  preserve  the 
generous  promise  you  made  to  one  you  believed  to  be 
penniless  and  forlorn."  And  this  was  signed  by  a 
well-known  and  wealthy  citizen  of  San  Francisco. 

Oh,  me !   I  must  have  had  an  expressive  face  for. 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  273 

though  I  never  spoke  one  word,  as  I  glanced  up  at 
the  porter  he  cried  out:  "  W-why,  w-why,  Miss 
Cla'h,  for  de  Lord's  sake,  w-why  don't !  "  and  in- 
continently fled. 

I  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  relief  when,  at  last,  I 
reached  my  rooms  at  the  hotel,  for  heaven  only  knows 
what  might  have  happened  had  the  journey  lasted  a 
day  longer! 

And  then  began  an  almost  killing  week  of  acting 
by  night,  of  rehearsing  by  day,  with  all  the  time  that 
deadly,  nauseating  fear  of  failure. 

There  is  no  body  of  American  people  who  can 
enthuse  with  such  utter  abandon  as  a  California 
crowd.  They  enjoy  their  own  generosity;  they  are 
adepts  in  the  delicate,  delightful  hypocrisy  of  the 
successful  hostess.  They  will  welcome  you  with  such 
shining  eyes,  such  becks  and  nods  and  radiantly 
wreathed  smiles,  that  the  "  poor  player  "  feels  a  sort 
of  "  Willie,  we  have  missed  you  "  atmosphere  inclos- 
ing him;  and  for  the  moment  he  will  actually  believe 
that  these  people  have  spoken  of  him  in  their  homes, 
have  looked  forward  to  his  coming,  and  his  heart  will 
be  touched  and  grateful;  and  they  seeing  that  will  be 
pleased  that  he  is  pleased.  Thus  they  are  atune,  all 
keyed  up  to  concert  pitch,  and,  with  half  a  play  to 
work  out,  a  great  occasion  may  be  expected.  Do  not 
think  them  lacking  in  the  critical  faculty.  They  are  as 
sensitively  alert  to  catch  the  author's  meaning  as  the 
artist's  expression.  They  have,  too,  a  sturdy  inde- 
pendence of  judgment.  A  thousand  nights  run  in  the 
East  will  not  induce  them  to  accept  a  play  that  dis- 


2  74  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

pleases  them.  They  decline  to  follow  a  leader,  but 
they  are  warm,  they  are  genial,  they  are  emotional. 
And  what  is  so  contagious  as  enthusiasm?  There  Is 
much  foreign  blood  there,  and  Its  "bravas!"  and 
"  bravos !  "  are  frequent  and  add  a  peculiar  note  of 
triumph  to  a  burst  of  applause.  The  California  audi- 
ence when  aroused  enjoys  Its  own  excitement,  and  It 
is  a  joy  Indeed  to  act  well  enough  to  arouse  It. 

At  the  last  rehearsal  I  stood  a  woful  moment  and 
then  burst  out:  "  Oh,  boys  and  girls!  this  won't  do. 
You  must  not  drag  If  you  want  me  to  succeed,  and  I 
know  you  do.  You  must  rush  the  house.  I  don't  mean 
you  are  to  gabble  your  lines,  but  be  sincere,  Intense, 
swift.  You,  Miss  Wilton,  have  this  adventuress  to 
represent;  It  Is  a  great  part.  Play  It  desperately,  re- 
membering that  If  you  win  you  are  established  for 
life  amid  sumptuous  surroundings,  In  social  security; 
If  you  fall,  you  face  a  house  of  correction,  or  the  low- 
est slums  known  to  ruined  gamblers.  Play  It  with  des- 
perate determination.  Here  is  a  great  opportunity. 
If  you  can  take  the  play  away  from  me,  do  It,  only, 
for  heaven's  sake,  never  let  down  for  a  moment! 
We  will  try  this  act  again." 

The  night  came,  the  house  was  packed.  The  first 
act,  which  was  not  any  too  brilliant  in  action,  was 
laid  out  cold  and  dead  by  the  hand  of  the  electrician, 
who,  in  his  desire  to  get  an  effect  from  the  lighted 
city  of  AIx-les-Bains  in  the  distance,  kept  the  stage  in 
semi-darkness.  Oh,  it  was  dreadful!  One  could  not 
distinguish  the  colours  of  the  costumes,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  expression  of  the  faces.  I  heard  the  leading 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  275 

man  growling  off  to  someone :  "  This  is  a  nice,  large, 
wet  blanket  spread  over  us,  isn't  it?  "  And  under  all 
my  gentle,  pure-minded,  self-sacrificing  speeches 
seethed  a  burning  desire  to  exterminate  by  the 
sword's  edge  the  entire  race  of  electricians. 

There  was  some  courteous  applause  at  the  cur- 
tain's fall,  but  wild  horses  could  not  have  dragged  me 
before  the  curtain.  Shaking  with  silent  anger,  sick 
with  terror  for  the  next  act's  fate,  I  waved  people 
away  and  rushed  to  my  distant  room  to  change.  As 
I  was  going  out  my  maid,  discreetly  silent,  offered  a 
small  cup  of  coffee.  I  drank  it  and  with  brief  thanks 
went  to  meet  my  fate,  for  somehow  I  felt  all  hung 
upon  the  acceptance  of  that  act.  I  had  a  curious, 
numb  feeling,  my  brain  seemed  blank  of  every  mem- 
ory or  thought  save  the  coming  shooting.  I  wondered 
dully  if  that  was  madness.  Then  the  act  was  on.  I 
do  not  remember  anything  about  it  until,  in  hurling 
myself  upon  my  husband,  struggling  to  reach  the 
revolver,  a  voice  that  did  not  seem  to  be  mine  in  such 
piercing  anguish  cried:  "  For  God's  sake,  you  would 
not  fire  upon  an  unarmed  man?  "  that  a  mortal  terror 
seemed  to  possess,  to  shake  me  to  and  fro.  The  shot 
was  fired,  the  charge  of  infidelity  made !  Then  the 
physical  horror  of  the  dead  brother  lying  there,  that, 
to  my  imagination,  bore  the  face  of  the  fair-haired 
bad  man  of  the  train.  The  anguished  dread  of  my 
mother  being  suspected,  followed  by  the  demand  of 
the  husband:  "  Confess^ — you  loved  him!  "  pointing 
at  the  victim  of  his  rage. 

Suddenly  I  changed  my  answer,  that  should  have 


2  76  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

been:  "  Yes,  I  loved  him!  "  into  the  more  subtle  one 
with  its  double  meaning :  "  Yes,  he  loved  me  !  "  Then 
in  a  sort  of  mad  defence  of  my  mother's  honour,  my 
father's  shame,  my  husband's  rage,  I  repeated  again 
and  yet  again  the  words:  "  He  loved  me!  the  dead 
man  loved  me,  yes !  "  with  the  ever-rising  cry  of  utter 
hysteria:  " //^  loved  me!"  The  curtain  was  fall- 
ing, but  the  shrieked-out  self-accusation  went  madly 
on:  "  The  dead  man  loved  me!"  until  finally  it  was 
heard  faintly  through  the  fallen  curtain.  Then  I 
caught  up  my  skirts  and  staggered  to  my  room,  leav- 
ing the  actors  amazed  by  this  unrehearsed  outburst, 
standing  in  their  places. 

Many  times  I  laughed  afterward  over  Dr.  Camp- 
bell Shorb's  telling  of  that  night.  I  was  under  his 
care,  and  he  came  to  my  room  to  see  if  his  aid  was 
needed.  He  used  to  say:  "  I  rushed  around  there 
from  the  front,  with  my  eyes  sticking  out  of  my  head 
far  enough  to  hang  your  hat  on,  and  that  patient  of 
mine  came  reeling  up  to  me  and  laid  a  hand  as  cold 
as  a  dead  frog  into  mine  and,  with  great,  scared, 
blank  eyes  staring  out  of  a  chalk-white  face  she 
gasps:  '  What  are  they  thinking  out  there,  doctor?  ' 
'Thinking?'  I  replied,  *  why.  Good  God,  they're 
past  thinking !  They  haven't  any  sense  left.  They 
are  standing  up  howling  like  hungry  wolves.  And 
what  in  thunder  are  you  doing  here?  ' 

"  Just  then  the  call-boy  and  the  prompter  came 
butting  up  together,  roaring  out:  'Miss  Morris! 
Miss  Morris !  Oh,  please  hurry,  please !  '  and  she 
turned  and  fled  down  the  stage.  I  stood  in  the  room 


A  HUNT  FOR  A  PLAY  277 

and  I'm  blest  if  It  wasn't  just  like  a  madhouse,  with 
the  inmates  extra  bad.  Roar,  roar,  then  frantic  howl! 
Roar,  roar,  howl !  and  I  understood  presently  this 
meant  her  coming  and  going  before  the  curtain.  I 
tell  you  It  was  Impressive  even  away  up  there.  At 
last  she  came  back,  flushed,  smiling,  beaming.  Now 
listen.  At  sight  of  me  she  gave  a  little  start  and 
said:  'Oh,  good  evening,  doctor,'  gave  me  a  thin, 
hot  hand,  and  added:  '  Do  you  know,  I  believe  the 
play  will  go,  after  all ! '  I'm  blest  if  she  even  remem- 
bered having  seen  me  before  that  night !  She  had 
been  half  mad  with  anxiety.  By  jove !  a  woman  earns 
all  she  gets  in  such  nerve-racking  work  as  that !  " 

He  was  right.  I  did  not  remember  the  first  meet- 
ing. The  play  was  a  success.  Falling  In  the  East,  It 
triumphed  In  San  Francisco.  We  succeeded  In  stam- 
peding the  audience.  The  papers  pointed  out,  as  In 
duty  bound,  the  weak  points  In  the  story,  but  every 
soul  who  wept  and  reared  up  on  end  and  roared  ap- 
proval at  our  swift,  tensely  earnest  presentation  of 
It  advertised  the  play  and  the  players,  and  for  years 
after,  "  Renee  de  Moray  "  was  my  "  bunkie,"  or  at 
least  she  was  one  of  them. 


XVII 

SOME   REMINISCENCES   OF 
L.  Q.  C.  LAMAR 

THE   GREAT   PACIFICATOR 

BUT  just  twice  in  my  life  have  I  felt  a  strong 
desire  to  meet,  personally,  one  of  the  promi- 
nent public  men  known  to  me  only  through 
"  information  and  belief."  There  was  no  Mrs.  Leo 
Hunter  in  either  case.  I  had  no  desire  to  hear  those 
lions  roar  for  the  entertainment  of  envious  guests 
crowded  into  my  drawing-room.  No,  that  was  not  it 
at  all.  I  just  wanted  to  see  them  with  my  own  eyes, 
to  hear  them  speak  a  few  simple  words,  to  be  allowed 
to  burn  my  joss-sticks  and  swing  my  incense  before 
them  in  quiet  sincerity.  One  of  these  two  men  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  meeting,  and  of  knowing  well,  ere  he 
.passed  over  to  the  great  majority  waiting  in  the 
House  of  Silence. 

Senator  Lamar,  the  beloved  of  the  South,  the  won- 
der of  Washington,  was  rapidly  becoming  the  orator- 
ical delight  of  the  w^iole  country.  When  it  became 
known  at  the  Capitol  that  Lamar  was  going  to  speak, 
the  galleries  filled,  members  of  all  parties  from  both 
Houses  sought  the  floor  of  the  Senate,  and  ofl'icials 
deserted  their  offices  to  crowd  to  the  chamber  and 
listen  eagerly  to  the  glowing  eloquence  of  the  man 
who  was  not  afraid  to  grapple  even  with  those  colossi 
of  debate,  Blaine  and  Conkling.  The  great  reading 

278 


L.  O.  C.  LAMAR  279 

public  was  on  the  alert  for  the  reported  speech,  which, 
even  in  cold  black  and  white,  retained  much  of  its 
grace  and  charm  and  colour.  The  speaker's  dignity 
and  courtesy,  despite  his  keen,  incisive  and  damaging 
arguments,  contrasted  beautifully  with  the  roughness 
of  some  of  his  opponents.  One  felt  that  behind  all 
the  elegance  of  diction,  the  graceful  flights  of  fancy, 
there  was  solid  statesmanship;  and  many  people  be- 
lieved that  Senator  Lamar  was  truly  and  sincerely 
working  for  the  reconciliation  of  the  States,  and  so 
respected  as  well  as  admired  him — and  I  was  quite 
content  as  one  of  that  body. 

Judge  of  my  satisfaction  when,  my  professional 
duties  having  taken  me  to  Washington,  my  friend, 
Col.  Donn  Piatt,  came  hurriedly  into  my  sitting-room 
one  day  to  ask  if  I  would  receive  at  once  Senator 
Lamar,  whom  he  said  he  had  met  by  chance  in  the 
office  below,  and  who  had  astonished  him  by  express- 
ing a  wish  for  an  introduction.  Much  pleased  at  my 
good  fortune,  I  nevertheless  asked  jestingly:  "But 
why  astonished.  Colonel?  " 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "  do  you  know  nothing, 
then,  of  the  man's  character,  his  peculiarities?  Quiet, 
retiring,  self-absorbed,  he  cut  society  long  ago ;  and, 
while  devoted  to  old  friends,  his  shy,  shrinking  dis- 
like of  meeting  strangers  grows  upon  him  so  that  he 
is  in  a  fair  way  to  become  a  sort  of  hermit.  He  calls 
me  friend,  and  treats  me  as  one,  but  I  assure  you  I 
never  before  heard  him  express  a  desire  to  meet  a 
stranger,  and — and  if  I  don't  make  great  haste  he 
may  change  his  mind,  or  forget  all  about  the  matter." 


28o  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

"  Gracious !  "  I  cried,  ungratefully.  "  Why  don't 
you  hasten,  then !  Don't  stop  to  explain  now,  and  so 
lose  me  my  opportunity  of  meeting  the  silver-tongued 
one  from  the  South !  " 

And,  with  the  rueful  comment:  "  There's  a  woman 
for  you !  Asks  a  man  a  question,  and  then  demands 
to  know  why  he  stops  to  answer  it !  "  he  laughingly 
descended  officeward;  and,  while  I  exchanged  the 
comb  In  my  hair  for  an  ivory  one,  which  I  thought 
looked  well  In  the  wavy  brownness,  and  murmured 
regretfully  for  probably  the  ten-thousandth  time : 
"  Such  a  very  common  colour — brown,"  and  drew 
the  powder-puff  lightly  across  my  nose  and  chin,  I 
saw  for  the  last  time  the  Lamar  of  my  imagination — 
the  lean,  long,  strong  man,  with  the  lion-like  mane  of 
silver-streaked,  dark  hair,  the  piercing  eyes,  the 
leathery  brown  skin  and  the  chin-whisker  and  mous- 
tache so  favoured  by  the  middle-aged  men  of  the 
South.  One  moment  he  existed,  the  next — there  were 
approaching  steps,  an  opening  door,  an  Introduction, 
and,  good  heavens ! — he  was  gone.  At  one  touch  of 
reality  he  disappeared  into  space  and  only  a  beautiful 
courtesy  and  an  ugly  chin-whisker  remained  to  re- 
mind me  of  my  Imaginary  Lamar. 

The  real  man's  voice  was  low,  and  softer  than  that 
of  any  woman's  I  knew.  He  was  of  medium  height 
and  heavily-fleshed;  his  eyes  were  small,  and — Oh, 
Mr.  Lamar!  How  could  you  be  so  disappointing? — 
they  were  light-blue,  and  gentler  than  his  voice.  Then 
his  short,  broad  figure  was  topped  by  a  long,  hlgh- 
browed  face,  and — final  and  finishing  touch  of  dif- 


L.  Q.  C.  LAMAR  281 

ference — the  leonine  hair  was  really  fine  and  soft, 
long  and  clinging,  and  worn,  as  I  honestly  believe,  in 
a  fashion  favoured  by  no  other  man  in  America. 
Ohio's  noble  "  old  Roman  "  (Thurman)  wore  rather 
long  hair,  but  the  lobes  of  his  ears  were  visible;  while 
Mr.  Lamar  brought  his  hair  down  from  the  parting 
straight  and  smooth,  a  good  inch  below  his  ears,  and 
then,  as  a  sailor  says  "  clubbed  "  It  under,  and  in  thus 
eliminating  every  sign  of  that  most  expressive  fea- 
ture, the  ear,  he  added  greatly  to  the  seeming  length 
and  narrowness  of  his  face.  He  laughed  more  with 
his  eyes  than  with  throat  and  lips,  and  a  crowd  of 
impish  little  puckers  gathered  about  them  when  his 
eyes  began  to  twinkle,  then  smoothed  themselves  out 
again  when  he  became  serious.  He  was  giving  me  a 
somewhat  stately  greeting,  when  I  noticed  the  extra- 
ordinary fineness  and  smoothness  of  his  clasping  fin- 
gers, and  glancing  down,  I  exclaimed:  "  Mercy,  Sena- 
tor, I  do  believe  you  have  a  lazier  hand  than  even 
Colonel  Piatt's!"  Both  men  laughed  guiltily;  and 
Mr.  Lamar  turned  his  hand  this  way  and  that.  "  You 
find  indolence  here,"  he  remarked;  then,  extending 
the  left  one,  he  smiled  rather  ruefully,  asking:  "And 
in  this?" 

"  In  that,"  I  promptly  added,  "  I  find  urbanity." 
And,  with  a  chuckle,  Colonel  Piatt  cried:  "She's 
got  you,  Lamar  I  Indolence  and  urbanity — she's  got 
you!" 

Senator  Lamar,  assuming  an  attitude  of  exagger- 
ated sentimentality,  responded,  "  It  is  the  common 
fate — she  has  got  us   all !  "   and  dropped  into  the 


2S2  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

room's  easiest  chair,  which  I  had  turned  comfortably 
with  its  back  to  the  light.  I  placed  myself  humbly  on 
n  lower  seat,  and  we  proceeded  to  make  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  Mr.  Lamar,"  I  said  to  him,  one  day,  some  time 
afterward,  "  don't  you  know  that  your  Southern  chin- 
whisker  is  very  unbecoming  to  you?  Why  don't  you 
wear  your  moustache  alone — that  whisker  adds  so  to 
the  seeming  length  of  your  face?  " 

"  I  know;  an  artist  friend  told  me  that  long  ago — 
but  it's  too  late  to  change  now;  and  say,  shall  I  tell 
you  how  I  came  to  wear  the  confounded  thing  at 
all?" 

"  Oh,  do!  "  I  cried,  and — heaven  forgive  him! — 
this  is  the  tale  that,  with  all  gravity  and  seeming 
sincerity,  he  told  me : 

"  You  see,"  he  commenced,  "  the  time  came  around 
when  I  felt  I  must  enlist,  and  I  resigned  my  profes- 
sorship in  the  university — where  I  believe  I  held  the 
chair  of  ethics  and  metaphysics — and,  cooperating 
w^ith  my  friend,  C.  H.  Mott,  undertook  to  raise  a  reg- 
iment. Now,  in  the  old  home,  the  name  of  Lamar 
means  something.  The  people  down  there  have  mem- 
ories, and  my  father  and  my  gifted  brother  were  not 
yet  forgotten,  and — well,  you  see,  where  a  Lamar 
led,  a  lot  of  fellows  were  sure  to  follow,  and  I  knew 
right  well  from  the  first  they  would  never  be  satisfied 
till  they  had  cocked  me  up  as  an  officer  of  some  sort 
over  them;  and,  in  spite  of  my  knowing  nothing  on 
earth  about  the  game  of  war,  those  boys,  every  one 
of   them,   would   look   to   their   old   neighbour   and 


L.  Q.  C.  LAMAR  283 

friend,  Lamar,  for  example  and  guidance.  Now, 
wasn't  that  a  nice  situation?  "  he  asked  forlornly. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  think  it  was.  Their  trust  In 
you — their  reliance  upon  your  courage  and  wisdom 
— was  touching ;  and  you  know  very  well  now,  Colo- 
nel, that  down  In  your  heart  you  were  proud  of  it?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  not  then.  I 
was  too  mightily  afraid  I  might  prove  a  broken  reed 
that  would  pierce  those  who  leaned  upon  it  for  sup- 
port. Afterv/ard,  little  woman,  when  I  had  learned 
what  a  battle  meant,  I — well,  perhaps  I  was  a  bit  vain 
of  their  trust  In  me  then — because  I  had  learned  that 
I  could  trust  myself.  But  just  at  first — my !  "  He 
wiped  his  brow  as  at  a  recollection.  "  How  was  I  to 
know  that  my  nerves  might  not  betray  me  when  I 
was  under  fire  the  first  time?  I  said  to  myself,  night 
and  day :  '  Suppose,  Lushe,  you  should  be  fright- 
ened?'" He  leaned  forward,  and  laid  an  impres- 
sive forefinger  on  my  wrist.  "  Understand,  there's  no 
disgrace  in  a  man  being  rattled  once — say  in  his 
maiden  battle.  Every  fellow  has  a  legitimate  right  to 
otie  scare,  but  damn  the  man  that  scares  twice !  The 
very  bullets  would  avoid  him.  But  I  was  not  worried 
about  the  possibility  of  a  second  attack  of — well, 
let's  be  frank  and  say — fear.  No,  thank  the  Lord! 
But  what  did  keep  me  on  the  rack  was  this:  Suppose 
we  are  ordered  forward,  and  then  we  are  halted  long 
enough  for  our  ardour  to  die  out  and  for  the  horror 
of  the  action  going  on  to  get  hold  of  our  Imagl- 
jiation,  and  the  boys  get  scared  (according  to  their 
right),  they  will  as  one  man  turn  to  you,  Lushe  La- 


2S4  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

mar,  expecting  to  see  you  calm  as  a  May  morning,  to 
hear  you  say:   'Steady  boys — we'll  get  our  chance 

presently,  and  then  we'll  give  'em '  Eh  ?  you  know 

the  prescribed  and  correct  ending  of  that  sentence? 
And  then.  Great  God  of  War!  suppose  I  should  have 
my  scare  on  at  the  same  moment,  and  the  boys  saw 
it?  Oh,  Nineteenth  Mississippi!  Oh,  boys  and  neigh- 
bours !  Have  I  not  seen  you  run  in  many  a  game  at 
home?  I  said,  at  last,  to  my  tormented  self:  'I'll 
stay  at  home;  I  will  recruit  others;  I  will  arm  and 
equip  them  to  the  last  dollar  I  possess,  but  I  won't 
run  the  risk  of  shaking  the  confidence  of  my  own  men 
by  momentary  weakness.'  For,  you  see,  I  knew  in 
my  soul  that  any  funk  of  mine  would  only  be  a 
matter  of  moments.  It  was  midnight,  and  I  cried 
aloud:  '  If  only  I  could  hide  that  possible  nervous 
tremor!'  The  word  'hide'  caught  my  attention. 
Suddenly  I  slipped  out  to  the  gallery,  and,  looking  up 
at  the  stars,  an  idea  came  to  me.  I  knew  my  face  was 
not  an  expressive  one.  My  eyes,  I  could  control  to 
steadiness  any  time.  My  voice  was  absolutely  obedi- 
ent to  my  will.  Just  one  feature  I  could  not  control 
when  under  excitement  of  any  kind — my  mouth. 
Anger,  pain  or  fear  would  blanch  my  lips  instantly, 
and  I  knew  they  quivered  under  great  emotion,  so  it 
simply  came  to  this :  If  I  could  somehow  get  a  little 
apron  or  curtain  over  my  mouth,  I  might  go  a-soldier- 
ing  with  the  best  of  our  people;  and,  like  a  thief  in 
the  night,  I  then  and  there  stole  into  the  sleeping- 
room  of  one  who  put  his  faith  in  bear's  grease.  For 
days  and  days  the  razor  and  the  bear's  grease  of  the 


L.  Q.  C.  LAMAR  285 

unsuspecting  friend  filled  my  secret  hours  with  scrap- 
ing and  anointing — with  wild  hopes  and  desperate 
fears.  Then,  at  last,  the  shadow  darkened  on  my  lip. 
One  glorious  day,  my  blessed  little  wife  frowned  at 
my  kiss  because  my  chin  was  rough  and  had  scratched 
her  cheek.  The  recruiting  proceeded,  the  regiment 
was  formed,  and  I  became  lieutenant-colonel,  and — 
and " 

"  And,"  I  interrupted,  "  after  your  first  battle,  you 
were  honourably  mentioned  by  three  different  gen- 
erals— which  throws  a  black  cloud  of  suspicion  on  the 
truth  of  that  story.  Colonel?  " 

But  he  kept  perfectly  serious  as  he  asked:  "  Did 
you  never  hear  of  a  brave  man  being  frightened  in  a 
first  action?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  A  mighty  fighter  on  our 
side  once  told  me  that  the  sight  of  the  wounded  being 
carried  off  the  field,  as  his  regiment  advanced,  turned 
him  sick  with  terror." 

'*  And  yet,"  he  smiled,  "  you  won't  believe  In  my 
reason  for  assuming  this  protecting  beard  of  mine." 

Then,  suddenly,  we  were  at  war  about  the  senti- 
mentality of  the  Southern  men  over  their  women.  I 
argued  that  it  was  exaggerated  and  sometimes  absurd; 
that  every  women  was  proclaimed  a  famous  belle  and 
beauty.  I  caught  up  a  paper.  "  Look  here !  "  I  cried. 
"  Is  not  this  a  commonplace  face — without  chic, 
without  beauty,  not  even  a  wholesome  prettlness? 
Yet  here  she  is  labelled  '  the  lovely  Miss  Lulu  Some- 
body, the  belle  of '  The  town  Is  so  small  that 

even  you  cannot  locate  it  in  Georgia,  Your  tourna- 


286  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

ments  and  jousts,  while  occasionally  gotten  up  with 
skill  and  knowledge,  are  too  often  absurdities." 

"Yes,  yes!  "  he  admitted,  "but  every  man  down 
there  considers  it  a  girl's  right  to  be  hailed  as  a  Queen 
of  Beauty.  Women  ought  to  be  praised — over- 
praised,  if  you  like.  Every  dry-goods  clerk  can  pen 
a  sonnet  to  his  lady's  eyebrow.  The  one  may  be  as 
imperfect  as  the  other,  but  both  parties  are  pleased 
with  the  spirit  of  the  thing.  And  now,  tell  me  hon- 
estly, don't  you  think  the  men  of  the  North  are  lack- 
ing in  tender  devoir?  We  don't  stop  at  kissing  finger- 
tips down  there — one  does  not  have  to  be  a  Pope  in 
the  South  to  have  an  adorer  kneel  and  kiss  a  little 
slipper-toe  or  a  riding-boot  before  slipping  it  into  a 
stirrup.  Would  a  Northern  man  do  that?  " 

"  My  very  dear  Mr.  Lamar,"  I  replied,  "  the  dif- 
ference is  not  so  great  as  you  imagine.  The  man  of 
the  North  hates  pose.  He  cannot  stand  on  the  street 
bareheaded  and  blow  kisses  after  a  woman  in  a  car- 
riage, as  I  have  seen  done  in  Atlanta's  streets.  Nor 
could  he,  before  a  group  of  spectators,  kneel  and 
kiss  the  riding-boot  of  his  fairest  fair;  but  his  tender 
sentiment  would  probably  move  him,  years  after  mar- 
riage, to  kneel  and  remove  the  muddy  boot,  and  chafe 
into  warmth  the  chill  little  foot,  and  kiss  it  as  he  slips 
it  into  a  bedroom  slipper,  for  the  sentiment  of  absolute 
devotion  to  his  womankind  is  the  hall-mark  of  the 
American  man  the  world  over." 

Mr.  Lamar  leaned  over,  and  patting  my  hand, 
said:  "  God  bless  you,  little  woman;  that  picture  of 
sentiment  is  worth  a  mint,  yes,  a  mint!  " 


L.  O.  C.  LAMAR  287 

The  movement  pushed  from  his  knee  a  heavy, 
legal-looking  book,  while  the  bulging  of  his  unbut- 
toned coat  betrayed  a  paper-covered  novel,  crowded 
into  an  inner  pocket.  I  covered  my  eyes,  crying,  "  Oh, 
Senator!  Oh,  our  poor  country!  What  pabulum  for 
the  mind  of  a  maker  of  laws !  " 

He  took  down  my  hands,  and  showed  me  the 
magic  name  of  Dumas.  "  Oh !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Is 
he  not  splendid?  Was  not  his  African  blood  worth 
rubies  and  diamonds  to  him?  There  was  where  that 
opulent  and  barbaric  imagination  came  from." 

*'  See  here !  "  interrupted  the  Senator,  sternly, 
"  I'm  mighty  glad  you  are  not  a  man  and  in  the 
Senate,  for  I  don't  know  how  often  you  have  stolen 
my  thunder.  That's  been  one  of  my  pet  ideas — about 
Dumas's  teeming  fancy  being  always  vivid,  always 
active.  Story-reading  is  a  rest  and  a  refreshment  to 
my  mind  just  as  the  recess  games  are  a  refreshment 
to  the  boy-pupil's  mind.  The  play  is  refreshing,  too, 

only "  He  cuddled  down  more  comfortably  into 

his  chair.  "  Only  one  can't  enjoy  that  In  one's  slippers 
and  friendly  old  gown." 

*'  No,"  I  said.  "  The  actors  hurry  along  so  incon- 
siderately, and  leave  no  margin  for  reveries  or  philo- 
sophical contemplation  of  the  situation." 

He  reached  threateningly  for  a  heavy  ruler  lying 
on  the  table,  and  I  hastened  to  add:  ''Jesting  aside, 
Mr.  Lamar,  do  you  know  everyone  says  that  you  and 
General  Garfield  are  the  two  booklest  men — the  two 
most  indefatigable  readers  in  Washington?" 

He  laughed  a  little.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  Garfield 


I 


2  88  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Is  always  at  it.  I'v^e  known  that  man  to  startle  a  stage- 
ful  of  quiet  people  by  a  great  laugh  he  had  found  in 
the  book  he  was  reading.  Ah,  he  Is  a  fine  fellow !  " 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  think  Is  our  greatest  public 
man  to-day?  "  I  asked.  "  The  man  to  whom  I  refer 
Is  quick,  Impetuous,  a  hard  hitter,  and  a  fair  fighter. 
Oh,  I  don't  claim  that  he  Is  an  angel,  mind  you! — 
nor  that  he  could  keep  his  angelic  robes  absolutely 
spotless,  if  he  had  them — but  to  wisdom,  courage  and 
loyalty  add  this  crowning  charm :  he  Is  a  polished 
gentleman.  So,  Senator,  to  my  mind,  the  mightiest 
American  we  have  to-day  Is " 

Mr.  Lamar  put  his  finger  quickly  upon  my  lips, 
and  announced.  "James  G.  Blaine?  You  are  right," 
he  said.  "  He  is  "  (he  separated  the  word  Into  exact 
syllables)    "  mag-nlf-I-cent !  Yes,  mag-nif-I-cent!  " 

He  sat  there  a  moment  silent,  and  then  something 
of  the  man's  big  nature  cropped  out,  something  of  his 
power  of  unselfish   appreciation   of   an   opponent's 
ability  which,   in  that  period  of  bitter  animosities, 
seemed  almost  beautiful. 

"  Mr.  Blaine,"  he  said,  "  is  a  great  man,  and 
sometimes  he  is  misunderstood  because  of  his  very 
brilliancy  and  audacity;  but  people  err  who  charge 
him  with  mere  personal  ambition.  He  Is  ambitious 
for  the  country;  and,  further,  really  to  appreciate 
Mr.  Blaine,  Instead  of  being  a  friend  one  needs  to  be 
his  opponent  in  order  to  feel  the  weight  of  his  blows, 
to  taste  the  bitterness  of  his  satire,  to  see  his  quickness 
and  dexterity;  and  then,  when  all  Is  over,  when  he 
has  knocked  you  about  and  hammered  your  argu- 


L.  Q.  C.  LAMAR  289 

ment  or  bill  or  amendment  or  what-not  all  out  of 
shape,  you  chance  to  meet  the  man,  the  individual, 
and  he  gives  you  a  straight,  frank  glance,  a  warm 
handgrasp,  and  says  in  a  hearty  voice :  '  Are  you  go- 
ing down  now?  Let  us  foot  it  together,  then;  the 
walk  will  do  us  both  good,'  or  '  By  Jove !  I'm  hungry, 
after  all  that  talk.  Come  on  let  us  go  somewhere  and 
get  a  bite  to  eat,'  and  the  warmth  and  geniality 
cheer  you  like  wine,  and  the  absence  of  personal  ani- 
mosity makes  you  forget  the  two  words — North  and 
South!  You  feel  only  that  you  are  both  Americans, 
and  your  heart  thrills  with  respect  and  admiration 
for  so  generous  a  nature.  Ah,  as  you  say,  '  it  takes 
a  mighty  man  to  charm  his  enemies,'  and  James 
G.  does  it  often!  " 

I  had  not  said  anything  of  the  kind,  but  he  had, 
which  was  more  to  the  point  and  very  illuminating, 
I  thought. 

Mr.  Lamar's  dreaminess  became  a  veritable  Ori- 
ental languor  at  times.  Yet  who  may  say  thos€  long 
hours  passed  in  seeming  idleness  were  wasted  hours? 

"  My  mind  is  slow.  It  moves  slowly,"  he  often 
said.  Now,  as  Henry  Ward  Beecher  took  keenest 
pleasure  in  watching  the  play  of  light  and  colour  in 
unset  gems,  giving  many  an  odd  moment,  here  and 
there,  to  turning  them  on  his  palm,  that  he  might 
catch  their  purest  rays  of  colour,  so  did  Mr.  Lamar 
love  to  fondle  an  idea,  to  turn  and  twist  it,  to  con- 
sider its  weight,  its  possible  value,  under  such  and 
such  circumstances.  The  main  idea  in  the  greatest 
speech  of  his  life,  he  had  had  in  his  mind  for  years; 


290  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

and  if  that  last  sentiment  in  his  great  Sumner  eulogy 
was  the  result  of  much  dreaming,  one  can  only  thank 
God  for  the  creating  of  the  dreamer! 

And,  yet — Oh,  man  of  many  surprises! — later  on, 
as  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  he  astonished  his  world 
by  not  only  abandoning  his  own  indolence,  but  by 
waking  up  a  host  of  loitering  employees  and  trans- 
forming them  into  active,  earnest  workers.  Nor  was 
his  a  case  of  "  new  broom."  Nine  o'clock  each 
morning  found  the  Secretary  at  his  desk  right  along, 
for  Oklahoma  was  requiring  all  the  time  he  could 
give  it. 

Ah,  great  is  the  power  of  singleness  of  purpose! 
This  Lamar  on  one  side  was  all  sentiment,  flowery 
speech,  warm  impulse;  but  run  about  him  quick,  and 
see  on  the  other  side — a  Lamar,  shrewd,  cautious, 
far-sighted  and  alert.  No  matter  which  side  he 
turned  to  you,  the  one  great  fine  purpose  of  his  life 
was  to  reconcile  the  North  and  the  South — to  win,  not 
forgiveness  so  much  as  forgetfulness  of  the  past. 
Poor,  great  man !  His  work  was  cut  out  for  him — 
with  the  flaunters  of  the  bloody  shirt  on  the  one  side 
and  the  sneering,  carping  Bourbons  on  the  other. 
In  every  man's  life  there  is  the  flood-mark  of  some 
supreme  moment  of  power,  high  above  the  fullest 
tide  of  daily  life.  It  remains  indelible  and  unforget- 
able;  and  surely  in  the  changeful,  romantic  life  of 
this  remarkable  L.Q.C.  Lamar  there  was  no  greater, 
no  nobler,  no  more  dramatic  moment  than  that  in 
which,  to  the  disapproving  incredulity  of  his  friends 
and  the  public,  he  rose  in  the  Senate  to  second  the 


L.  Q.  C.  LAMAR  291 

usual  resolutions  In  that  body  and  to  make  a  memo- 
rial address  upon  Charles  Sumner.  Think  of  it !  It 
brings  a  catch  to  the  breath,  even  now,  to  recall  that 
dread  moment !  In  that  whole  crowded  chamber 
there  was  probably  not  one  person  who  did  not 
mentally  accuse  him  of  incredibly  bad  taste — at  the 
least.  Lamar — ex-fire-eater,  ex-secessionist — eulo- 
gising Sumner!  There  were  disquieting  fears  on  his 
own  side  for  the  outcome  of  the  mad  effort  which 
they  could  only  hope  might  prove  but  a  perfunctory 
and  formal  tribute  to  the  memory  of  their  mortal 
enemy.  The  other  side  smiled  grimly  at  one  another 
In  anticipation  of  the  awful  bump  with  which  the 
speaker  would  land  between  the  two  stools  of 
Northern  and  Southern  sensibilities. 

The  pale  man,  who  rose  so  quietly  on  the  left  of 
the  chamber,  standing  at  the  end  of  the  aisle  next 
the  center,  knew  his  waiting  was  over.  He  had  found 
an  opportunity  at  last,  great  enough  to  command 
the  attention  of  his  world,  and  he  meant  to  seize  it, 
boldly  and  bravely,  while  honouring  the  dead,  and 
to  make  one  mighty  appeal  to  the  old-time  feeling 
of  brotherly  love.  He  saw  that  "  conciliation  "  was 
absolutely  Indispensable  to  the  welfare  of  his  people; 
he  would  try  to  unlock  the  hearts  that  were  growing 
colder  day  by  day,  and  perhaps  mutual  grief  would 
soften  them;  perhaps  tears  would  wash  away  the 
suspicion  on  one  side  and  the  morose  resentment  on 
the  other. 

But,  dear  God,  what  a  task !  How  was  he  to 
please  one  side  without  outraging  the  other?   What 


292  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

sincerity,  what  exquisite  tact,  what  perfect  judgment, 
what  fine  discernment  were  required.  No  wonder  he 
was  white,  no  wonder  his  eyes  burned  almost  black 
with  suppressed  excitement;  for,  when  he  faced  his 
critical  audience,  he  only  possessed  of  his  positive 
knowledge  one  single  qualification  for  his  task — sin- 
cerity. For,  personally,  he  did  regret  Sumner's  loss; 
and  that  sincerity  was  in  his  grave  and  quiet  voice, 
when  he  began :  "  Mr.  Speaker,  in  rising  to  second 
the  resolutions  just  offered,  I  desire  to  add  a  few 
remarks  which  have  occurred  to  me  as  appropriate 

to  the  occasion "  and  then  the  wonderful  address 

went  on. 

The  splendour  of  the  dead  man's  intellect,  the  high 
morality  and  the  purity  of  his  life  were  dwelt  upon, 
and  his  passionate  belief  in  freedom  as  the  natural 
right  of  every  intelligent  being  having  the  outward 
form  of  man.  Oh,  what  delicate  ground  the  speaker 
was  treading  on !  Listen  to  these  words  anent  the 
slavery  question:  "In  this  fiery  zeal,  this  earnest 
warfare  against  the  wrong  (slavery)  as  he  saw  it, 
there  entered  no  enduring  personal  animosity  toward 
the  men  whose  lot  it  was  to  be  born  into  the  system 
which  he  denounced !  " 

With  thrilling  voice  the  speaker  recalled  the 
kindness  and  sympathy  which  Mr.  Sumner  had  dis- 
played toward  the  impoverished  and  suffering  people 
of  the  Southern  States.  "  Thus,"  Mr.  Lamar  de- 
clared, with  tender  triumph,  "  thus  unveiling  to  our 
gaze  the  generous,  warm  heart  within  the  zealot's 
bosom."    Tears  were  stealing  down  bearded  cheeks, 


L.  Q.  C.  LAMAR  293 

but  as  he  went  on  to  recall  that  knightly  act  of 
courtesy  to  a  conquered  people — when  Mr.  Sumner, 
whom  he  called  "  the  first  pacificator,"  offered  his 
amazing  resolution,  "  That  the  names  of  battles  with 
fellow  citizens  shall  not  be  contained  in  the  army 
register  or  placed  on  the  regimental  colours  of  the 
United  States," — more  than  one  head  fell  low  upon 
a  heaving  breast.  Then,  approaching  gradually  but 
surely  to  the  real  object  of  his  speech,  he  told  how, 
when  he  first  came  to  Washington,  his  impulse  had 
been  to  go  to  Mr.  Sumner,  offer  his  hand  with  his 
heart  in  it  and  thank  him  from  his  soul,  but  a  re- 
straint was  upon  him.  He  thought  other  days  would 
come  when  the  act  would  be  less  liable  to  miscon- 
struction. "  To-morrow — ^to-morrow,  perhaps — and 
lo !  a  day  had  come  when  there  was  no  to-morrow 
for  that  purpose.  How  many  others  were  doing  a 
like  thing?  Charles  Sumner  believed  all  cause  of 
distrust  and  strife  between  North  and  South  had 
passed  away.  Are  there  not  many  of  us  who  believe 
the  same  thing?"  And  then,  indeed,  the  reason  of 
his  address  became  evident  in  the  tender,  touching, 
passionate  appeal  for  "  complete  reconciliation,"  and 
so  closed  with  the  heart-thrilling  words :  "  Would 
that  the  spirit  of  the  illustrious  dead,  whom  we 
lament  to-day,  could  speak  from  the  grave  to  both 
parties  in  this  deplorable  discord,  in  tones  which 
should  reach  each  and  every  heart  throughout  this 
broad  territory:  'My  countrymen,  know  one  an- 
other, and  you  will  love  one  anotherl'" 

A  moment's  silence — then   the  chamber  and  the 


294  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

galleries,  Democrats  and  Republicans,  diplomats  and 
nobodies,  burst  into  applause  which  the  Speaker  did 
not  check.  L.  Q.  C.  Lamar  had  had  his  foot  in  the 
stirrup,  but  he  was  in  the  saddle  now,  and  he  rode 
as  the  Great  Pacificator  1 


XVIII 
LOOKING   BACKWARD 

WHEN  the  late  Mr.  Augustin  Daly  be- 
stowed even  a  modicum  of  his  confi- 
dence, his  friendship,  upon  a  man  or 
woman,  the  person  so  honoured  found  the  circulation 
of  his  blood  well  maintained  by  the  frequent  and 
generally  unexpected  demands  for  his  presence,  his 
unwavering  attention  and  sympathetic  comprehen- 
sion. As  with  the  royal  invitation  that  is  a  command, 
only  death  positive  or  threatening  could  excuse  non- 
attendance,  and  though  his  friendship  was  in  truth 
a  liberal  education,  the  position  of  even  the  humblest 
confidant  was  no  sinecure,  for  the  plans  he  loved 
to  describe  and  discuss  were  not  confined  to  that  day 
and  season,  but,  were  long,  daring  looks  ahead,  great 
coups  for  the  distant,  unborn  years. 

The  season  had  closed  on  Saturday.  Monday  I 
was  to  sail  for  England,  and  early  that  morning  the 
housemaid  watched  for  the  carriage.  My  landlady 
was  growing  quivery  about  the  chin,  because  I  had 
to  cross  alone  to  join  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  Lewis, 
who  had  gone  ahead.  My  mother  was  gay  with  a 
sort  of  crippled  hilarity  that  deceived  no  one,  as  she 
prepared  to  go  with  me  to  say  good-bye  at  the  dock, 
while  little  Ned,  the  son  of  the  house,  proudly  gath- 

295 


296  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

ered  together  rug,  umbrella,  hand-bag,  books,  etc., 
ready  to  go  down  with  us  and  escort  my  mother  back 
home — when  a  cab  whirled  to  the  door  and  stopped. 

"Good  heavens!"  I  cried,  "what  a  blunder.  I 
ordered  a  carriage;  we  can't  all  crowd  Into  that 
thing!" 

Then  a  boy  was  before  me,  holding  out  one  of 
those  familiar,  summoning  half-sheets,  with  a  line  or 
two  of  the  jetty-black,  impishly-tiny,  Daly  scrawls — 
and  I  read: 

"  Must  see  you  one  minute  at  office.  Cabby  will  race  you 
down.  Have  your  carriage  follow  and  pick  you  up  here. 
Don't  fail!  A.  Daly." 

Ah,  well !  A.  Daly — he  who  must  be  obeyed  had 
me  in  good  training.  I  flung  one  hand  to  the  mistress, 
the  other  to  the  maid  in  farewell,  pitched  headlong 
into  the  cab,  and  went  whirling  down  Sixth  Avenue 
and  across  to  the  theatre  stage-door,  then  upstairs 
to  the  morsel  of  space  called  by  courtesy  the  private 
office. 

Mr.  Daly  nonchalantly  held  out  his  hand,  looked 
me  over  and  said:  "That's  a  very  pretty  dress — 
becoming,  too — but  Is  it  not  too  easily  soiled?  Salt 
water  you  know  is " 

"  Oh,"  I  broke  In,  "  it's  for  general  street  wear — 
my  travelling  will  be  done  In  nightdress,  I  fancy." 

"  Ah,  bad  sailor,  eh?  "  he  asked,  as  I  stood  trem- 
bling with  impatience. 

"  The  worst!  But  you  did  not  send  for  me  to  talk 
dress  or  about  my  sailing  qualities?  " 


LOOKING  BACKWARD  297 

"  My  dear,"  he  said  suavely,  "  your  temper  is 
positively  rabid."  Then  he  glanced  at  the  clock  on 
his  desk  and  his  manner  changed.  He  said  swiftly 
and  curtly:  "Miss  Morris,  I  want  you  to  go  to 
every  theatre  in  London,  and " 

"  But  I  can't!  "  I  interrupted,  "  I  have  not  money 
enough  for  that!  " 

"Money!"  he  snapped.  "You  will  receive  the 
courtesy  of  all  the  theatres.    Present  your  name." 

"  But  my  name  is  not  known  over  there !  " 

"  Indeed !  "  he  exclaimed  angrily,  "  do  you  think 
the  leading  actress  of  the  City  of  New  York  is  a 
nonentity  abroad?" 

I  grinned  maliciously  as  I  replied:  "Well,  Mr. 
Daly,  as  you  have  yourself  this  moment  made  the 
discovery  of  my  exalted  position,  you  can't  blame 
London  for  its  ignorance  of  my  existence." 

He  frowned  and  waved  his  hand  impatiently. 
"  Use  my  name,  then,  or  ask  courtesy  from  E.  A. 
Sothern.  He  crosses  with  you  and  you  know  him. 
But  mind,  go  to  every  reputable  theatre,  and  (im- 
pressively) report  to  me  at  once  if  you  see  any  lead- 
ing man  with  exceptional  ability  of  any  kind." 

I  gasped.  It  seemed  to  me  I  heard  the  leaden  fall 
of  my  heart.  "  But,  Mr.  Daly,  what  a  responsibility! 
How  on  earth  could  I  judge  an  actor  for  you?  " 

He  held  up  an  imperative  hand.  "  You  think 
more  after  my  own  manner  than  any  other  person  I 
know  of.  You  are  sensitive,  responsive,  quick  to 
acknowledge  another's  ability,  and  so  are  fitted  to 
study  London's  leading  men  for  me!  " 


298  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

I  was  aghast,  frightened  to  the  point  of  approach- 
ing tears!  Suddenly  I  bethought  me.  "  I'll  tell  Mr. 
Lewis.  He  is  there  already,  you  know,  and  let  him 
judge  for  you." 

"Lewis?  Good  Lord!  He  has  no  independence! 
He'd  see  in  an  actor  just  what  he  thought  I  wanted 
him  to  see !  I  tell  you,  I  want  you  to  sort  over  Lon- 
don's leading  men,  and,  if  you  see  anything  excep- 
tional, secure  name  and  theatre  and  report  to  me. 
Heaven  knows,  two  long  years  have  not  only  taught 
me  that  you  have  opinions,  but  the  courage  of 
them!" 

Racing  steps  came  up  the  stairs,  and  little  Ned's 
voice  called:  "Miss  Clara!  Miss  Clara!  We  are 
here!" 

I  turned  to  Mr.  Daly  and  said  mournfully:  "  You 
have  ruined  the  pleasure  of  my  trip." 

"  Miss  Morris,  that's  the  first  untruth  you  ever 

told  me.  Here,  please "  and  he  handed  me  a 

package  of  new  books. 

"  Thanks !  "  I  cried,  and  then  flew  down  the  stairs. 
Glancing  up,  I  saw  him  looking  earnestly  after  me. 
"  Did  you  speak?  "  I  asked  hurriedly. 

"  That  gown  fits  well — don't  spoil  it  with  sea- 
water!  " 

And  half-laughing,  half-vexed,  but  wholly  fright- 
ened at  the  charge  laid  upon  me,  I  sprang  into  the 
carriage,  to  hold  hands  with  mother  all  the  way  down 
to  the  crowded  dock. 

One  day  I  received  in  London  this  note  from  Mr. 
Augustin  Daly: 


LOOKING  BACKWARD  299 

"  My  Dear  Miss  Morris  : — I  find  no  letter  here — im- 
patiently, *'  A.  D." 

And  straightway  I  answered: 

"  My  Dear  Mr.  Daly  : — I  find  no  actor  here — afflictedly, 

"  C.  M." 

And  lo,  on  my  very  last  night  in  London,  after 
our  return  from  Paris,  I  found  the  exceptional  lead- 
ing man. 

Ten  days  later,  on  a  hot  September  morning,  I 
was  hurling  myself  upon  my  mother  in  all  the  joy  of 
home-coming,  when  I  saw  leaning  against  the  clock  on 
the  mantel  the  unmistakable  envelope,  bearing  the 
impious  black  scribble  that  generally  meant  a  sum- 
mons. I  opened  it  and  read: 

"  Cleaners  in  full  possession  here — look  out  for  soap  and 
pails,  and  report  directly  at  box-office — don't  fail !  A.  Daly.^' 

I  confess  I  was  angry,  for  I  was  so  tired  and  the 
motion  of  the  steamer  was  still  with  me,  and  besides 
my  own  small  affairs  were  of  more  interest  to  me 
just  then  than  the  greater  ones  of  the  manager.  How- 
ever, my  two  years  of  training  held  good.  In  an 
hour  I  was  picking  my  way  across  wet  floors  among 
mops  and  pails  toward  the  sanity  and  dry  comfort  of 
Mr.  Daly's  office.  He  held  my  hands  closely  for  a 
moment,  then  broke  out  complainingly :  "  You've  be- 
haved nicely,  haven't  you?  Not  a  single  line  sent  to 
tell  what  you  were  seeing,  doing,  thinking?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  distinctly  remember  send- 
ing you  a  line."  He  scowled  blackly.   I  went  on:  "I 


300  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

thought  your  note  to  me  was  meant  as  a  model,  so  I 
copied  it  carefully." 

Formerly  this  sort  of  thing  had  kept  us  at  daggers 
drawn,  but  now  he  only  laughed,  and  shaking  his 
hand  impatiently  to  and  fro,  said:  "  Stop  it!  oh,  stop 
it !  So  you  could  not  find  even  one  leading  man  worth 
while,  eh?" 

"Yes — just  one!  " 

"  Then  why  on  earth  didn't  you  write  me?  " 

"  Couldn't — I  only  found  him  on  our  last  night  in 
London." 

Mr.  Daly's  face  was  alight  in  a  moment.  He 
caught  up  a  scrap  of  paper  and  a  pencil  and,  after 
the  manner  of  the  inexperienced  interviewer,  began : 
"What's  he  like?" 

"  Tall,  flat-backed,  square-shouldered,  free-mov- 
ing, and  wears  a  long  dress-coat — that  shibboleth  of 
a  gentleman — as  if  that  had  been  his  custom  ever 
since  he  left  his  mother's  knee." 

Mr.  Daly  ejaculated  "  good!  "  at  each  clause,  and 
scribbled  his  impish  small  scribble  on  the  bit  of  paper 
which  rested  on  his  palm. 

"What  did  he  do?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  He  didn't  do,"  I  answered  lucidly. 

"  What  do  you  mean.  Miss  Morris?  " 

"  What  I  say,  Mr.  Daly." 

"  But  if  the  man  doesn't  do  anything,  what  is  there 
remarkable  about  him?" 

"  Why,  just  that.  It  was  what  he  didn't  do  that 
produced  the  effect." 

"A-a-ah,"  said  Mr.  Daly,  with  long-drawn  satis- 


LOOKING  BACKWARD  301 

faction,  scribbling  rapidly.  "  I  understand,  and  you 
thought  Miss,  that  you  could  not  judge  an  actor  for 
me!  What  was  the  play?  " 

"  Bulwer's  '  Money,'  and  Marie  Wilton  was  su- 
perb as " 

"  Never  mind  Marie  Wilton,"  he  interrupted  im- 
patiently, writing,  "  but  Alfred  Evelyn  is  such  an 
awful  prig." 

"Isn't  he?"  I  acquiesced,  "but  this  actor  made 
him  human.  You  see,  Mr.  Daly,  most  Evelyns  are 
like  a  bottle  of  gas-charged  water:  forcibly  restrained 
for  a  time,  then  there's  a  pop  and  a  bang,  and  in  wild 
freedom  the  water  is  foaming  thinly  over  everything 
in  sight.  This  man  didn't  kowtow  in  the  early  acts, 
but  was  curt,  cold,  showing  signs  of  rebellion  more 
than  once,  and  in  the  big  scene,  well " 

"Yes?"  asked  Mr.  Daly  eagerly. 

"  Well,  that  was  where  he  didn't  do.  He  didn't 
bang  or  rave  or  work  himself  up  to  a  wild  burst 
of  tears!"  ("Thank  God!"  murmured  Mr.  Daly 
and  scribbled  fast.)  "  He  told  the  story  of  his  past, 
sometimes  rapidly,  sometimes  making  a  short,  abso- 
lute pause.  When  he  reached  the  part  referring  to  his 
dead  mother,  his  voice  fell  two  tones,  his  words  grew 
slower,  more  difficult,  and  finally  stopped.  He  left 
some  of  his  lines  out  entirely — actually  forcing  the 
people  to  do  his  work  in  picturing  for  themselves  his 
sorrow  and  his  loss — while  he  sat  staring  helplessly 
at  the  floor,  his  closed  fingers  slowly  tightening,  try- 
ing vainly  to  moisten  his  dry  lips.  And  when  the  un- 
consciously sniffling  audience  broke  suddenly  into  ap- 


302  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

plause,  he  swiftly  turned  his  head  aside,  and  with  the 
knuckle  of  his  forefinger  brushed  away  two  tears. 
Ah,  but  that  knuckle  was  clever!  His  finger-tips 
would  have  been  girly-girly  or  actory,  but  the  knuckle 
was  the  movement  of  a  man,  who  still  retained  some- 
thing of  his  boyhood  about  him." 

Mr.  Daly's  grey,  dark-lashed  eyes  were  almost 
black  with  pleased  excitement  as  he  asked:  "  What's 
his  name?  " 

"  Coghlan — Charles  Coghlan.  " 

"Why,  he's  Irish?" 

"  So  are  you — Irish-American,"  I  answered  de- 
fensively, pretending  to  misunderstand  him. 

"Well,  you  ought  to  be  Irish  yourself!  "  he  said 
sternly. 

"  I  did  my  best,"  I  answered  modestly.  "  I  was 
bom  on  St.  Patrick's  Day!  " 

"  In  the  mornin'  ?  "  he  asked 

"  The  very  top  of  it,  sor!  " 

"  More  power  to  you  then !  "  at  which  we  both 
laughed,  and  I  rose  to  go. 

As  I  picked  up  my  sunshade,  I  remarked  casually: 
"  Ah,  but  I  was  glad  to  have  seen,  for  once  at  least, 
England's  great  actor." 

"This  Coghlan?" 

"Good  gracious,  no!" 

"  What,  there  Is  another,  and  you  have  not  men- 
tioned him — after  my  asking  you  to  report  any  ex- 
ceptional actor  you  saw?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  You  asked  me  to  report 
every  exceptional  leading  man.  This  actor's  leading 


LOOKING  BACKWARD  303 

man's  days  are  past.  He  is  a  star  by  the  grace  of 
God's  great  gifts  to  him,  and  his  own  work." 

"Well!"  snapped  Mr.  Daly,  "even  a  star  will 
play  where  money  enough  is  offered  him,  will  he 
not?" 

"  There's  a  legend  to  that  effect,  I  believe." 

"  Will  you  favour  me,  Miss  Morris,  with  this 
actor's  name?  " 

"  Certainly.  He  is  billed  as  Mr.  Henry  Irving." 

Mr.  Daly  looked  up  from  his  scribbling.  "  Irving? 
Irving?  Is  not  he  the  actor  that  old  man  Bateman 
secured  as  support  for  his  daughters?  " 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  old  gentleman's  mistaken  be- 
lief; but  the  public  thought  differently,  and  laboured 
with  Papa  Bateman  till  it  convinced  him  that  his 
daughters  were  by  way  of  supporting  Mr.  Irving." 

A  grim  smile  came  upon  the  managerial  lips  as  he 
asked,  "  What  does  he  look  like?  " 

"  Well,  as  a  general  thing,  I  think  he  will  look 
wonderfully  like  the  character  he  is  playing.  Oh, 
don't  frown  so!  He — well  he  is  not  beautiful,  neither 
can  I  imagine  him  a  pantaloon  actor,  but  his  face  will 
adapt  itself  splendidly  to  any  strong  character  make- 
up, whether  noble  or  villainous."  Mr.  Daly  was 
looking  pleased  again.  I  went  on:  "He  aspires,  I 
hear  to  Shakespeare,  but  there  is  one  thing  of  which 
I  am  sure.  He  is  the  mightiest  man  in  melodrama 
to-day!" 

"  How  long  did  it  take  to  convince  you  of  that. 
Miss  Morris?  One  act — two — the  whole  five  acts?  " 

"  His  first  five  minutes  on  the  stage,  sir.  His  busi- 


304  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

ness  wins  applause  without  the  aid  of^  words,  and  you 
know  what  that  means." 

Again  that  elongated  "  A-a-ah !  "  Then,  "Tell 
me  of  that  five  minutes,"  and  he  thrust  a  chair  toward 
me. 

"  Oh,"  I  cried,  despairingly,  "  that  will  take  so 
long,  and  will  only  bore  you." 

"  Understand,  please,  nothing  under  Heaven  that 
is  connected  with  the  stage  can  ever  bore  me." 
Which  statement  was  unalloyed  truth. 

"  But  indeed,"  I  feebly  insisted,  only  to  be  brought 
up  short  with  the  words,  "  Kindly  allow  me  to  judge 
for  myself." 

To  which  I  beamingly  made  answer:  "  Did  I  not 
beg  you  to  do  that  months  ago?  "  But  he  was  grow- 
ing vexed,  and  curtly  commanded:  "I  want  those 
first  five  minutes — what  he  did,  and  how  he  did  it, 
and  what  the  effect  was,  and  then  "  (speaking  dream- 
ily) "  I  shall  know — I  shall  know." 

Now  at  NJr.  Daly's  last  long-drawn-out  "  A-a-ah," 
anent  Mr.  Irving's  winning  applause  without  words, 
I  believed  an  idea,  new  and  novel,  had  sprung  into 
his  mind,  while  his  present  rapt  manner  would  tell 
anyone  familiar  with  his  ways  that  the  idea  was 
rapidly  becoming  a  plan.  I  was  wondering  what  it 
could  be,  when  a  sharp  "Well?"  startled  me  into 
swift  and  beautiful  obedience. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Daly,  I  knew  absolutely  nothing 
of  the  story  of  the  play  that  night.  '  The  Bells  '  were, 
I  supposed,  church-bells.  In  the  first  act  the  people 
were  rustic — the  season  winter — snow  flying  in  every 


LOOKING  BACKWARD  305 

time  the  door  opened.  The  absent  husband  and  father 
was  spoken  of  by  mother  and  daughter,  lover  and 
neighbour.  Then  there  were  sleigh  bells  heard,  whose 
jingle  stopped  suddenly.  The  door  opened — Mat- 
thias entered  and  for  the  first  time  winter  was  made 
truly  manifest  to  us,  and  one  drew  himself  together 
Instinctively,  for  the  tall,  gaunt  man  at  the  door  was 
cold — chilled,  just  to  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones. 
Then,  after  general  greetings  had  been  exchanged,  he 
seated  himself  In  a  chair  directly  In  the  centre  of  the 
stage,  a  mere  trifle  In  advance  of  others  In  the  scene, 
and  proceeded  to  remove  his  long  leggings.  He  drew 
a  great  coloured  handkerchief  and  brushed  away 
some  clinging  snow;  then  leaning  forward,  with 
slightly  tremulous  fingers,  he  began  to  unfasten  a  top 
buckle.  Suddenly  the  trembling  ceased,  the  fingers 
clenched  hard  upon  the  buckle,  the  whole  body  be- 
came still,  then  rigid — It  seemed  not  to  breathe! 
The  one  sign  of  life  in  the  man  was  the  agonisingly 
strained  sense  of  hearing!  His  tortured  eyes  saw 
nothing.  Utterly  without  speech,  without  feeling  he 
listened — breathlessly  listened !  A  cold  chill,  crept 
stealthily  about  the  roots  of  my  hair.  I  clenched  my 
hands  hard  and  whispered  to  myself:  '  Will  It  come, 
good  God,  will  it  come,  the  thing  he  listens  for?  ' 
When  with  a  wild  bound,  as  If  every  nerve  and  muscle 
had  been  rent  by  an  electric  shock,  he  was  upon  his 
feet;  and  I  was  answered  even  before  that  suffocating 
cry  of  terror — '  The  bells !  the  bells !  ' — and  under 
cover  of  the  applause  that  followed  I  said :  '  Haunted ! 
Innocent  or  guilty,  this  man  Is  haunted!  '  And  Mr. 


3o6  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

Daly,  I  bowed  my  head  to  a  great  actor,  for  though 
fine  things  followed,  you  know  the  old  saying,  that 
'  no  chain  is  stronger  than  its  weakest  link,'  well  I 
always  feel  that  no  actor  is  greater  than  his  care- 
fullest  bit  of  detail." 

Mr.  Daly's  pale  face  had  acquired  a  faint  flush  of 
colour:  "  Thank  you!  "  he  said,  with  real  cordiality, 
and  I  was  delighted  to  have  pleased  him,  and  also  to 
see  the  end  of  my  troubles,  and  once  more  took  up 
the  sunshade. 

"  I  think  an  actor  like  that  could  win  any  public, 
don't  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  lightly  answered.  "  He  is 
generally  regarded  as  an  acquired  taste." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  came  the  sharp  return. 

"  Why,  you  must  have  heard  that  Mr.  Irving's 
eccentricities  are  not  to  be  counted  upon  the  fingers  of 
both  hands?  " 

Mr.  Daly  lifted  his  brows  and  smiled  a  contented 
smile:  "  Indeed?  And  pray,  what  are  these  peculiar- 
ities?" 

"  Oh,  some  are  of  the  figure,  some  of  movement, 
and  some  of  delivery.  A  lady  told  me  over  there  that 
he  could  walk  like  each  and  every  animal  of  a  Noah's 
ark;  and  people  lay  wagers  as  to  whether  London 
will  force  him  to  abandon  his  elocutionary  freaks,  or 
he  will  force  London  to  accept  them.  I  am  inclined 
to  back  Mr.  Irving,  myself." 

"  What!  What's  that  you  say?  That  this  fine  actor 
you  have  described  has  a  marked  peculiarity  of  de- 
livery— of  speech?  " 


LOOKING  BACKWARD  307 

"Marked  peculiarities?  Why,  they  are  murder- 
ous I  His  strange  Inflections,  his  many  mannerisms 
are  very  trying  at  first,  but  he  conquers  before " 

A  cry  stopped  me — a  cry  of  utter  disappointment 
and  anger!   Mr.  Daly  stood  staring  at  his  notes  a 

moment,    then   he   exclaimed  violently:   "D n! 

d n  ! !   oh,   d n  ! ! !  "   and   savagely   tore   his 

scrlbbled-on  paper  Into  bits  and  flung  them  on  the 
floor. 

Startled  at  his  vexation,  convulsed  with  suppressed 
laughter  at  the  infantile  quality  of  his  profanity,  I 
ventured,  in  a  shaking  voice,  "  I  think  I'd  better 
go?" 

"I  think  you  had!  "  he  agreed  curtly;  but  as  I 
reached  the  door  he  said  in  his  most  managerial  tone: 
"  Miss  Morris,  It  would  be  better  for  you  to  begin 
with  people's  faults  next  time " 

But  with  the  door  already  open  I  made  bold  to 
reply :  "  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Daly,  but  there  isn't  going 
to  be  any  next  time  for  me!  " 

And  I  turned  and  fled,  wondering  all  the  way 
home,  as  I  have  often  wondered  since,  what  was  the 
plan  that  went  so  utterly  aglae  that  day?  Mr,  Cogh- 
lan  he  engaged  after  falling  In  his  first  effort,  but  that 
other,  greater  plan;  what  was  It? 


XIX 
ALESSANDRO   SALVINI 

CAN  any  one  of  us  to-day  name  a  young  man 
who  can  enter  a  room,  pay  a  woman  his 
homage  kneeling,  then  recover  his  upright 
position  and  join  in  the  general  conversation,  without 
provoking  a  smile  of  derision,  without  arousing  that 
sick  pang  of  mortification  one  feels  at  seeing  a  friend 
make  a  fool  of  himself?  No!  To  the  lover  alone  is 
the  kneeling  position  permissible  to-day,  and  even  he 
is  exposed  to  the  danger  of  ridicule  in  his  rising,  if 
he  scrambles  or  lays  hold  of  furniture,  or — poor 
wight ! — if  he  drag  at  his  fair  one's  draperies  for 
assistance.  Yet,  it  was  on  his  knee  that  young  Ales- 
sandro  Salvini  first  presented  himself  before  me.  In 
a  burst  of  extravagant  admiration  he  had  solemnly 
assured  my  husband  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
for  his  peace  of  mind  that  he  should  see  me  and 
offer  his  homage  in  person.  Amused  by  the  lad's 
enthusiasm  Mr.  Harriott  brought  him  to  me,  and 
straightway  he  crossed  the  room,  knelt,  and,  gravely 
lifting  my  hand  to  his  lips,  said  with  glowing  eyes 
upraised:  "  Madame,  so  my  father  would  do,  were 
he  here  to  see  that  '  death.'  You  have  given  the 
stage  a  companion  piece  to  the  '  death  '  in  '  Morte 
Civile.'  " 

I  fairly  gasped  at  the  daring  presumption  of  the 
308 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  309 

compliment.  "Don't!"  I  cried;  "only  think  one 
moment  of  the  difference." 

"  The  difference  is,  madame,  just  the  difference 
between  intaglio  and  cameo — both  the  scenes  are 
gems,  perfect  and  without  flaw.  I  adore  cameos, 
madam !  " 

"And  I,"  I  laughed,  "worship  intaglios!"  And 
he  was  standing  at  my  side  and  we  were  all  discussing 
the  art  of  gem  cutting,  and  not  a  soul  of  us  had 
smiled  at  the  lad's  action,  so  simple  and  natural  had 
it  seemed. 

I  suppose  it  was  the  influence  of  his  Italian  blood, 
of  his  actor  ancestry,  but  always  there  was  that  touch 
of  the  romantic  about  him,  while  a  certain  grave, 
almost  sombre  air  gave  him  a  dignity  surprising  in 
one  so  young.  At  that  first  meeting,  in  speaking  the 
words,  "  so  my  father  would  do,  were  he  here,"  he 
sounded  the  key-note  to  his  own  character.  His 
father's  name  was  the  open  sesame  to  Alessandro's 
mind  and  heart,  and  the  term  "  my  father  "  was  his 
shibboleth,  while  the  standard  by  which  he  measured 
acting,  honour,  judgment,  taste,  and  the  general  con- 
duct of  a  gentleman,  was  also  that  idolised  father, 
Tommaso   Salvinl. 

When  I  first  met  him  he  had  already  developed  a 
passionate  longing  to  go  upon  the  stage.  He  had 
been  to  Mr.  Palmer,  who  had  not  encouraged  him, 
principally  because  he  knew  Signor  Salvini  had  other 
plans  for  his  son,  and  partly  because  his  English  was 
still  defective;  and,  thinking  to  get  rid  of  his  im- 
portunities at  one  fell  blow,  Mr.  Palmer  said  to  him 


3IO  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

one  day:  "Well,  come  in  next  week  and  recite  for 
me  Hamlet's  soliloquy  in  English,  and  then  we'll 
talk  things  over." 

"  Thank  you,"  briefly  responded  the  lad  and  re- 
tired, and  Mr.  Palmer,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  went 
home  feeling  he  had  washed  his  hands  of  that  affair. 
But,  alas !  a  few  days  later  he  was  informed  that 
young  Salvini  awaited  him  in  the  lobby.  He  was 
vexed,  but,  being  a  man  of  his  word,  he  straightway 
seated  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  parquet  while 
Alessandro,  with  set  square  jaw  and  knit  brows, 
clambered  up  on  the  stage  and  slowly  and  carefully 
declaimed  "  To  be  or  not  to  be."  Of  course  it  was 
parrot-like  and  soulless,  so  far  as  acting  was  con- 
cerned, but  it  was  a  revelation  of  the  boy's  determi- 
nation and  of  his  really  remarkable  quickness  in  ac- 
quiring English. 

When  he  came  to  visit  me,  I  soon  discovered  he 
was  profoundly  miserable  about  something,  and 
presently  he  confided  his  trouble  to  me,  and  in  a 
passionate  outburst  of  sorrow  and  indignation  he 
cried:  "If  only  my  father  would  speak  one  little 
word  for  me,  every  stage-door  would  fly  open  like 
magic;  but  no!  but  no!  Ah,  you  see,  Madame  Clara, 
he  is  so  great !  My  father  he  is  afraid  my  efforts 
might  injure  him — but,  surely,  he  is  too  secure  for 
that.  His  father  was  an  actor  before  him  and  es- 
teemed great,  but  he  did  not  break  his  son's  heart 
by  denying  him  the  privilege  to  follow  his  bent  and 
act.  If  I  could  only  get  a  start — then  I  know  my 
father  would  accept  the  situation  and  give  me  his 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  311 

blessing  too,  but " — his  eyes  filled,  he  dropped  his 
head  on  the  back  of  the  chair  he  sat  sidewise  In — 
"but  no  one  will  give  me  a  chance — no  one  at 
all !  " 

He  was  utterly  disheartened,  but  in  that  outburst 
I  had  seen  the  potential  actor,  and,  laying  my  hand 
on  his  thick  up-curling  black  hair,  I  said:  "  My  lad, 
I  will  give  you  a  chance — for  no  man  born  to  the 
name  of  Salvini  can  help  acting!  " 

If  the  portals  of  heaven  had  opened  before  him, 
I  do  not  believe  his  face  would  have  been  more 
radiant.  "  You  must  wait  a  little,"  I  said,  "  until  I 
can  see  your  chance — but  I'll  find  it,  never  fear,'* 
and  then  he  paralysed  me  by  joyously  crying: 
"  Wait !  oh,  madame !  will  I  not  wait  till  the  hell 
freeze  over!  "  Then,  at  sight  of  my  face,  he  hurried 
on:  "  Have  I  not  got  it  right,  then?  You  say  it!  " 
that  being  his  constant  request  to  people  about  him: 
"  Yoii  say  it!  "  But  I  declined  on  the  grounds  of 
propriety,  and  then,  with  a  black  frown,  Salvini  re- 
marked he  would  pull  one  man's  nose  who  taught 
him  that. 

No  wonder  he  learned  English  quickly,  for  he 
was  ever  on  the  alert — no  strange  word  escaped  him, 
no  unusual  term.  He  would  say  it  over  and  over  till 
he  met  a  friend,  and  then  demand  its  meaning.  One 
day  he  came  to  me  with  a  very  troubled  face. 
"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  please  tell  me  why  shall  a 
man,  like  me,  like  any  man,  be  a  *  blue-nose '?  " 

"A  what?"  I  asked. 

"  A  '  blue-nose.'  "  So  he  was  called  In  the  restau- 


312  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

rant,  but  he  seemed  not  offended  about  it.  "  I  have 
looked  in  my  books;  I  can't  find  any  disease  of  that 
name." 

With  ill-suppressed  laughter  I  asked:  "Do  you 
know  Nova  Scotia  and  Newfoundland?" 

"  I  hear  the  laugh  in  your  voice,"  he  said,  then 
added:    "Yes,  I  know  both  these  places." 

"  They  are  very  cold  and  foggy  and  wet,"  I  ex- 
plained. 

But  with  brightening  eyes  he  caught  up  the  sen- 
tence and  continued:  "And  the  people  have  blue 
noses,  eh?  Ha!  ha!  Excuse  me,  then,  but  is  a 
'  milk-sop  '  a  man  from  some  State  or  some  county 
too?" 

It  was  hardly  possible  to  meet  him  without  having 
a  word  or  a  term  offered  thus  for  explanation. 

Mr.  Palmer  thought  me  rather  rash  when  I  pro- 
posed to  let  Salvini  play  George  du  Hamel  in 
"  TArticle  47,"  but,  while  the  matter  was  still  in  the 
air,  a  small  incident  occurred  that  strengthened  me 
in  my  conviction  that  the  boy  could  act,  and  could 
also  triumph  over  all  linguistic  obstacles.  A  com- 
mittee of  policemen  from  Yonkers  had  entreated  me 
to  do  something  to  assist  the  widow  of  a  brother 
officer.  The  case  was  very  distressing,  and  I  had 
promised  to  arrange  a  little  entertainment  for  them. 
It  was  to  take  place  in  Yonkers,  and,  while  my  hus- 
band and  I  discussed  the  programme,  he  suddenly 
said:  "Why  not  ask  Salvini  to  recite  something? 
He  is  warm-hearted  and  generous,  his  name  would 
please  the  people,  and  it  would  give  him  a  chance  to 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  313 

speak  English  before  an  audience  that  would  be 
kinder  and  less  critical  than  the  city  audience  would 
be." 

The  idea  was  good,  and,  acting  upon  It,  I  spoke 
to  Salvlnl.  He  was  eager  to  give  his  help  to  my  plan, 
and  when  Mr.  Harriott  read  "  The  Charge  of  the 
Light  Brigade  "  to  him,  the  boy  could  scarcely  con- 
tain himself  for  delight.  He  seized  the  book  and 
began  on  the  instant  to  study  the  lines,  while  Mr. 
Harriott  at  once  introduced  his  name  to  its  first  pro- 
gramme. 

At  tea  some  one  used  the  word  "  clap-trap." 
"What's  that?"  quickly  demanded  the  student  In 
our  midst.  "'Clap-trap' — 'clap'  Is  so  (he  struck 
his  hands  together)  ;  '  trap  '  Is  for  rats — what  Is  then 
'  clap-trap'?  " 

"  It  is  a  vulgar  or  unworthy  bid  for  applause," 
I  explained. 

"  Bah!  "  he  contemptuously  exclaimed.  "  I  know 
him — ^that  cheap  actor  who  plays  at  the  gallery. 
He  is  then  in  English  a  'clap-trapper,'  Is  he  not?" 

The  night  arrived,  and  with  It  a  perfect  deluge  of 
rain.  I  had  not  let  the  poor  fellow  know  how  much 
depended  upon  his  success  or  failure  that  evening, 
and  when  I  saw  his  white  face  and  felt  the  Icy  touch 
of  his  fingers,  I  was  glad  of  my  silence.  When  he 
went  over  his  lines  before  Mr.  Harriott  he  was  quite 
perfect,  but  he  was  well  In  the  clutches  of  true  stage- 
fright.  Once,  as  we  waited  for  the  opening  of  the 
carriage  door,  he  closed  his  eyes  a  moment  and  mur- 
mured: "Ah,   I   am   sick  with   the   scare!"   and   I 


314  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

answered:  "That's  because  you're  an  actor  born, 
my  boy!  "  and  he  pressed  the  folds  of  my  evening 
cloak  to  his  lips,  saying:  "  But  you  are  good  to  say 
that!    I  won't  shame  you — see  now!  " 

Mr.  Harriott,  Salvini,  and  I — all  three — recited, 
and  some  ladles  sang  very  acceptably,  but  all  my 
thought  was  for  the  Italian  lad  fretting  up  and  down 
like  a  captive  tiger — his  hands  tight  clasped  behind 
him,  his  head  bowed,  and  his  lips  moving,  moving, 
moving.  He  was  In  evening  dress,  and  looked  well 
and  at  ease  in  it.  He  was  not  like  his  father  either 
In  feature  or  colour.  Alessandro's  was  the  Ideal 
Roman  head;  the  very  low,  very  wide  brow,  the  up- 
curling  thick  black  hair,  the  strong,  level  eyebrows, 
the  dark  brown  eyes,  the  colourless.  Ivory-white  fea- 
tures, were  distinctly  foreign. 

At  last  he  was  unleashed,  and  with  a  bound  he 
was  on  the  scrap  of  a  stage,  and  his  high,  clear  "  For- 
w-a-r-d!  the  Light  Brigade!  "  must  surely  have  been 
heard  down  in  Broadway.  It  really  was  a  clever  bit 
of  work,  a  trifle  too  florid;  but  that  was  the  result 
of  nervousness.  The  instinct  of  the  actor  was  twice 
plainly  shown — once,  when  in  making  a  mistake, 
Instead  of  stammering  or  going  back  to  correct  his 
error,  he  swiftly  "  jumped "  the  faulty  lines,  and 
dashed  on  securely  with  the  others;  and  again,  when 
at  the  close  he  read  with  much  feeling  the  words: 


Honour  the  charge  they  made! 
Honour  the  Light  Brigade, 
Noble  six  hundred/  " 


I 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  315 

standing,  as  If  looking  into  an  open  grave,  he  plucked 
the  white  flower  from  his  coat  and  cast  It  down,  a 
bit  of  business  that  caught  the  fancy  of  the  house 
Instantly.  While  the  people  maltreated  damp  um- 
brellas and  kicked  out  their  gum  shoes  In  giving  him 
a  recall  he  was  clutching  his  hair  and  wildly  pro- 
testing to  me:  "Madame  Clara,  I  have  never 
meant  that  for  a  clap-trap !  Never !  Never!  Just 
it  came  to  me  that  moment  to  throw  the  flower  to 
the  dead!  Think  me  a  fool — but  not — oh,  please 
not,  a  clap-trapper!  " 

"Go  on!  Go  on!  and  take  your  call!"  I  cried, 
pushing  him  before  me.  "  No  one  thought  of  clap- 
trap !  The  business  was  quite  artistic !  Will  you  go 
on?" 

And  when  all  was  over  and  Mr.  Harriott  heartily 
congratulated  him,  he  looked  fixedly  a  moment  In 
his  host's  face,  then,  convinced  of  his  sincerity,  he 
gave  a  shout  of  joy  and  hugged  himself,  whirling 
around  and  Indulging  in  all  the  antics  of  a  schoolboy 
at  recess,  and  crying:  "  Ah,  but  I  am  happy — happy 
to  my  very  dregs !  " 

"  Your  what?  "  I  gasped. 

"My  dregs!"  he  repeated.  "Happy  down  to 
my  heart's  very  dregs!  Why,  Is  not  that  right?  Do 
I  make  another  mistake?"  he  asked  disappointedly. 
And  not  wishing  to  see  a  cloud  over  his  joyous  face,  I 
answered  him  that  his  expression  was  only  a  trifle  un- 
usual, and  through  the  pouring  rain  we  drove  gaily 
home,  and  Alessandro  Salvini  had  made  a  first  ap- 
pearance in  English,  in  a  mere  village  hall,  before 


3i6  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

a  moist  and  uncomfortable  audience,  that  was  just 
beginning  to  steam  beneath  the  warmth  of  the  lamps, 
when  the  curtain  was  mercifully  lowered — yet  after 
it  I  could  safely  claim  for  the  boy  stage  presence, 
good  voice,  clear  delivery,  much  self-control,  and  a 
true  artistic  temperament  that  shrank  from  banali- 
ties and  tricky  devices.  Could  and  did — and  Mr. 
Palmer  listened  patiently  enough,  but  with  just  that 
faint  smile  of  disapproval  that  is  so  much  more  dis- 
heartening than  violent  opposition. 

"There!  "  I  cried  at  last;  "  I've  said  everything 
I  can  think  of!  " 

"  Well,  I  do  not  believe  you've  missed  anything," 
he  replied,  with  a  sorrowful  conviction  that  made 
me  realise  suddenly  how  much  of  his  time  I  was 
taking,  and  I  rose  hastily  to  retire,  when  he  motioned 
me  back  with  the  words :  "  We  have  given  a  great 
deal  of  thought  to  young  Mr.  Salvini;  now  let  us 
give  a  little  thought  to  Miss  Morris.  I  quite  agree 
with  you  that  Salvini  will  make  an  admirable 
'  George  ' — if  he  can  hold  on  to  the  language ;  but 
think  of  those  two  trying  situations — think  of  the 
utter  ruin  and  disaster  he  may  bring  upon  the  play." 
He  leaned  forward  and  touched  my  hand.  "  What 
would  Miss  Morris  do  if  George  went  quite  to 
pieces  in  the  mad  act?"  he  asked  warningly. 

"  Commit  murder  in  her  heart,  to  begin  with, 
and  then — oh,  well !  go  mad  a  bit  earlier  than  usual, 
get  him  off  the  stage  somehow,  and  play  the  game 
out  with  a  lone  hand." 

I  jested  and  never  dreamed  that  for  one  laughing 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  317 

moment  I  spoke  with  the  lips  of  prophecy.  Mr. 
Palmer  laughed  a  little,  quoted  "  wilful  woman," 
etc.,  and  scribbled  Alessandro  Salvini's  name  on  the 
cast  list  for  "  I'Article  47."  To  this  day  I  am  thank- 
ful that  he  never  had  reason  to  regret  making  that 
concession. 

Rehearsals  went  forward.  Salvini  only  read  his 
part  for  one  day;  the  second  he  was  perfect  in  his 
lines,  and  then  began  his  struggle  with  accent,  in- 
tonation, and  the  "  business  "  of  the  play,  which  was 
intricate  and  not  easy  to  remember;  and,  alas,  the 
current  of  his  true  love  for  the  drama  was  not  to 
run  quite  smoothly;  an  irritating  obstacle  appeared  in 
the  small  person  of  Mr.  Cazauran,  v/ho,  for  reasons 
known  only  to  himself,  bitterly  opposed  the  admis- 
sion of  Salvini  to  the  cast.  He  had  absolutely  no 
interest  in  the  play,  yet  he  fought  desperately  to 
keep  the  "  foreigner,"  as  he  called  him,  out.  Mr. 
Cazauran,  who  himself  came  from  France,  had  a 
stinging  and  sarcastic  tongue,  and  was  given  to  sud- 
den violent  dislikes,  which  were  very  apt  to  be  de- 
cidedly active.  So,  now,  having  loudly  proclaimed 
the  certain  failure  of  "  this  son  of  his  father,"  as  he 
contemptuously  termed  the  boy,  he  established  a 
system  of  petty  annoyances  that  would  have  angered 
and  distressed  any  carefully  rehearsing  actor,  but  in 
the  case  of  this  stranger,  nervous,  sensitive,  excitable, 
struggling  with  a  strange  language  for  his  artistic 
life,  it  was  in  a  fair  way  to  rout  all  his  faculties  and 
realise  the  prophecy  of  failure.  At  first,  when  Mr. 
Cazauran  ensconced  himself  in  the  chair  just  beneath 


3i8  THE  LIFE    OF  A  STAR 

the  left  box,  watching  and  listening  intently,  we  all 
supposed  it  was  for  the  moment's  curiosity,  for  the 
scene,  possibly  the  act,  but — but  he  was  always  there, 
always  the  piercing  little  eyes  watched  for  some 
gauchene  in  George;  the  eager  ears  strained  to  catch 
first  the  wrong  inflection,  the  misplaced  emphasis. 
The  shrug  that  ran  the  gamut  of  amused  surprise, 
stricken  amazement,  pitying  horror  at  such  hopeless 
blundering,  kept  his  Gallic  shoulders  busy,  and  as 
the  days  went  by  Salvini  found  himself  speaking  his 
speeches  against  a  running  fire  of  sharp  witticisms, 
cutting  comments,  burlesque  compliments,  and  faint, 
cackling  laughter  that  lost  nothing  of  their  power  to 
torment  through  being  sotto  voce. 

Why  was  such  a  thing  permitted?  Because  Mr. 
Palmer  was  engaged  elsewhere.  I  was  directing  my 
part  of  the  rehearsals  under  his  stage-manager,  who 
was  greatly  lacking  in  that  quality  known  in  the 
West  as  sand  and  in  the  East  as  backbone,  and  who 
was  afraid  of  offending  Mr.  Cazauran  by  checking 
him.  For  some  time  Salvini  had  borne  it  all  with 
commendable  dignity  and  self-control,  though  he 
had  said  to  me  once  with  dilating  eyes:  "  Mon 
Dieu,  madame!  will  he  do  that  thing  at  night?  If — 
if  I  see  him  sitting  in  that  chair  there,  I  shall  be 
paralysed  and  just  stand  and  wait  for  him  to  cackle 
and  crow  and  shrug."  Then  I  knew  the  lad's  nerves 
were  going,  under  the  strain  of  study,  work,  and 
worry. 

The  opening  of  the  engagement  was  but  two 
days  off  when  he  met  me  one  morning,  white-faced, 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  319 

heavy-eyed,  and,  throwing  his  hands  out  helplessly, 
said  briefly:  "  It  is  all  over,  madame — I  cannot  do 
it — I  know  now !  " 

For  one  moment  hot  anger  possessed  me;  then  the 
sight  of  his  tragic  young  face  touched  my  heart,  and 
I  said:  "You  have  worked  too  hard — you  are  un- 
strung. You  must  take  a  quiet  drive  to-day  and  you 
and  I  will  rehearse  at  home  afterward." 

"  No,  madame,"  he  replied  mournfully;  "  it  is 
not  overwork — my  nerve  strings  are  all  right  I  It 
is  not  that  I  am  coward  or  that  I  am  ungrateful,  but, 
madame,  neither  you  nor  I,  nor  anyone  else,  can  stand 
against  the  evil  eye!"  I  did  not  laugh;  the  thing 
was  too  serious.  I  knew  that  argument,  ridicule, 
entreaty  would  be  vain.  This  man  shared  with  thou- 
sands of  his  countrymen  a  fixed  belief  in  the  malig- 
nant power  of  the  evil  eye,  and  I  knew  well  the 
strength  of  a  true  belief.  If  it  be  given  to  blind 
chance  or  luck,  to  omens,  amulet,  and  charm — we 
call  it  superstition;  if  to  the  church  and  its  divine 
founder  we  call  it  religion,  but  in  either  case  it  is 
faith  and  a  power,  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  stare 
helplessly  and  say  to  myself  over  and  over:  "  What 
can  I  do?  only  two  days — what  can  I  do?  " 

He  broke  the  silence  with  the  remorseful  words: 
"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Madame  Clara — for  the 
trouble  I  give.  Had  I  only  known  I  would  have 
retired  at  once,  but  you  know  I  have  try  to  avoid 
that  small  man.  How  I  have  try  to  be  deaf  and 
blind  and  take  no  notice,  as  you  have  told  me  to  do; 
but  when  I  meet  his  eye,  full  just  now,  I  have  come 


320  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

cold,  cold  like  Ice,  right  here  " — he  pressed  his  hand 
to  his  breast — "  and  then  that  creep  in  the  hair,  and 
I  know,  right  away  quick  I  understand.  And  he 
know  I  know,  and  he  cackle  his  little  laugh,  and  he 
think,  oh,  only  two  days  and  I  have  you !  But,  at 
least,  he  shall  not  have  me  before  the  public.  But 
now  I  am  quite  ruin !  for  no  theatre  in  America  will 
ever  open  for  me  after  this !  " 

And  still  I  stood  there  thinking:  "What  can  I 
do?  Only  two  days — what  can  I  do?  " 

A  dull  red  came  into  the  lad's  troubled  face. 
"  Madame  thinks  I  am  coward — am  too  scare — 
that  I — I  make  a  backdown?"  His  eyes  gave  a 
flash.  "  Madame  does  not  believe  that  the  evil  eye 
exist?" 

"  Oh,  y — yes,"  I  answered  slowly,  "  I  believe  it 
exists — even  one  of  the  blood  royal  of  Italy  is  said 
to  be  so  afflicted;  though  In  his  case  the  evil  influence 
is  exerted  unwillingly,  unconsciously." 

"Y — yes!  yes!  madame,  one  of  our  royal  dukes 
— ah !  you  do  understand !  "  and  his  eyes  brightened, 
his  eager,  alert  manner  returned  to  him,  and  I  caught 
my  cue.  Since  I  could  not  oppose  him,  why  not 
humour  him?  And  right  there  a  remembrance 
flashed  into  my  mind  of  the  Neapolitan  coral  charm, 
worn  for  protection  against  the  evil  eye.  Could  I 
deceive  him  into  acting?  It  was  not  an  agreeable 
thing  to  do,  but  It  was  for  his  own  good  as  well  as 
mine.  For  the  only  time  In  my  life  I  subscribed  to  the 
belief  that  the  end  justified  the  means,  and,  assum- 
ing a  rather  doubting  expression,   I  asked:    "The 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  321 

coral  amulet  of  Naples — it  would  be  of  no  use,  I 
suppose?  " 

He  clasped  his  hands.  "  But,  Madame  Clara,  we 
are  in  New  York — we  cannot  beg,  steal,  or  borrow 
such  a  coral  here !  " 

"  Don't  be  so  sure,"  I  answered,  "  I  own  many 
odds  and  ends — a  scarab,  an  Arab  charm,  and,  in  a 
wee  bag  of  chamois-skin,  a  something  that  to  my 
eyes  looks  like  a  long  tooth  of  pink  coral,  pierced  to 
allow  a  thread." 

"  Mon  Dieu !  "  cried  the  gifted  and  sorely  tried 
youth.   "  Had  I  but  that!  Oh,  we  should  see!  " 

"Very  well,"  I  answered;  "you  shall  have  it — 
but  only  here  In  the  theatre,  please.  You  will  return 
it  to  me  after  the  performance." 

"  Certainly,  madame !  Ah,  but  I  am  happy  now 
again!"  He  rehearsed  admirably,  for  it  happened 
that  Mr.  Palmer  required  the  services  of  the  foe  that 
morning,  and  next  day,  with  an  anxious  heart,  I 
came  with  my  tiny  chamois  bag,  and  retiring  to  the 
depths  of  a  dusky,  dark  entrance,  I  mysteriously 
opened  it,  just  a  wee,  wee  bit,  so  that  Alessandro  could 
catch  a  gleam  of  the  coral,  and  then  drew  it  closed 
again,  passed  it  to  his  eager  hand,  and,  sick  with  fear, 
lest  he  open  it  and  find  it  but  a  slender  ear-ring  of 
coral,  I  returned  to  the  stage  and  began  my  morning 
work. 

Ah!  the  wonder  of  faith!  In  vain  the  little,  bitter 
man's  sneers  and  gibes  and  pretended  amusements ! 
Salvini,  bright-eyed,  hopeful,  smiling,  eager,  spoke 
out  clearly,  confidently,  and  acted  as  only  a  foreigner 


-2  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

can  act  in  the  daylight.  And  all  this  happy  assurance 
because  of  the  wee  bit  of  coral  on  his  breast.  Dear 
boy!  I  wonder  if  he  would  have  forgiven  me  my 
deception  had  he  discovered  it? 

The  first  night  was  over  at  last.  He  had  done 
remarkably  well,  though  his  accent  had  gone  quite 
wild  in  the  mad  act.  That  was  his  only  fault.  The 
people  liked  him  beyond  a  doubt,  and  were  very 
patient — the  American  public  is  ever  most  beauti- 
fully courteous  in  such  matters.  He  came  to  my 
room  and  kissed  my  hands  and,  with  shining  eyes, 
exclaimed :  "  Such  a  letter  I  shall  write  to  my  father 
this  night."  He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
heartily.  "  I  shall  sign  myself  his  '  actor  son.'  Then, 
if  he  scold  me,  I — I  " — he  pulled  a  grave  face — 
"  I  shall  write  him  one  very  long  letter  in  English. 
A-a-ah !  that  will  punish  him ;  for,  madame,  great  as 
my  father  is,  he  simply  cannot  learn  English — and, 
little  as  I  am,  I  can — can't  I,  madame?" 

A  very  charming  boy  was  young  Alessandro  Sal- 
vini,  and  yet,  the  second  week  of  the  engagement, 
he  one  night  brought  the  play  to  grief  and  me  to 
shame  and  mortification — for  to  give  way  to  passion 
always  causes  me  the  deepest  humiliation  afterward. 
My  natural  temper  being  quick  and  hot  to  fierceness, 
circumstances  from  my  very  infancy  demanded  of 
me  perfect  docility  or  my  room  instead  of  my  com- 
pany. I  had  learned  submission  before  I  had  grown 
steady  on  my  legs,  and  on  obedience  hung  all  the 
law  and  the  prophets  of  my  dreary  life.  Willing 
obedience  to  my  mother,   forced  obedience  to  peo- 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  323 

pie  en  masse,  respectful  obedience  to  employers. 
Naturally,  then,  I  attained  to  considerable  self-control, 
and,  loving  my  kind  heartily,  I  found  myself  rated  in 
theatres  as  an  amiable  woman.  Exacting  about 
"  business,"  but  amiable,  and  the  more  unworthy  I 
knew  myself  to  be  the  more  I  prized  the  reputation 
that  this  protege  of  mine  placed  in  such  jeopardy. 

The  play,  judged  merely  from  the  physical  stand- 
point, was  very  tr^'ing  and  demanded  every  particle 
of  my  strength.  It  was  growing  old  and  so  familiar 
to  me  that  it  required  all  my  imagination  to  force 
me  into  the  reckless,  primitive  nature  whose  love  and 
hate  were  alike  implacable;  and,  when  I  had  cast 
all  restraint,  all  self-control,  as  far  away  as  possible 
for  artistic  reasons,  they,  alas,  could  not  be  instantly 
recalled  for  personal  reasons.  We  had  reached  the 
point  where  with  narrowing  eyes  and  frothing  lips 
Cora  suddenly  ceased  rocking  to  and  fro  and  began 
her  first,  her  only  stammering  plea  for  "  pity,"  for 
*'  pardon !  "  A  plea  that  George  was  to  hear  in 
silence — in  dead,  complete  silence,  without  a  move- 
ment, save  when  he  averts  his  face  at  the  close  of  her 
wild  rush  of  words  that  stumbled  over  each  other 
— then  she,  the  untamed,  the  unconquerable,  slowly, 
with  absolute  surrender  in  every  line  of  her  body, 
falls  upon  her  knees  and  holds  pleading  arms  out  to 
him,  saying  simply:  "Forgive  me?"  He  never 
moves.  "  Please!  "  she  entreats,  low,  like  a  punished 
child.  He  never  moves.  "You  will  not  pity  me?" 
Slowly,  silently,  he  turns  his  contemptuous  face  away 
from  her.    "You  will  not  even  look  at  me?"    A 


324  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

mortal  anguish  shakes  her,  her  wild  eyes  rove  aim- 
lessly about,  then,  in  one  only  attempt  at  womanly 
dignity,  she  rises  slowly,  stretches  out  her  arm, 
pointing  to  the  door,  and  says :  "  Go !  Oh,  you  are 
free;  you  need  never  look  upon  my  face  again!" 
He  starts  silently  to  retire,  when  she  falls  in  a  hud- 
dled heap  in  the  chair  with  the  anguished  cry:  "  Yet 
I  suffer!  God!  Oh,  God!  how  I  suffer!"  Two 
minutes  later  he  denounces  her  as  mad,  and  the 
partition  that  separates  reason  from  madness  goes 
down  with  a  crash  that  leaves  Cora  a  raging,  gib- 
bering maniac. 

The  trouble  began  with  a  double  negative  from 
Salvini  that  caused  a  titter  among  the  thoughtless 
actors  in  the  scene.  Wounded,  he  let  go  mentally  of 
his  part  long  enough  to  cast  a  reproach  or  two  upon 
the  actors,  missed  a  cue  in  doing  it,  was  seized  with 
a  trembling,  permitted  himself  to  think  in  Italian, 
and  then  found  himself  standing  helplessly  before 
the  concentrated  rage,  the  glaring  eyes,  and  dilating 
nostrils  of  the  amiable  woman  who  had  helped  him 
to  the  stage. 

Wildly  he  spoke  the  wrong  line.  "Be  silent!" 
hissed  Cora.  "  For  heaven's  sake,  keep  still  if  you 
can,"  and  resumed  her  pitiful  pleading:  "You  will 
not  pity  me?  "  she  moaned.  (Good  heavens!  he  was 
coming  toward  her!)  "Keep  still!  Keep  still!" 
she  fiercely  commanded  in  a  whisper;  then  aloud: 
"  You  will  not  even  look  at  me?  "  (and  that  terror- 
stricken  boy  crept  over  to  Cora  and  tenderly  tried 
to  lift  her  to  her  feet,  murmuring  with  wet  eyes: 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  325 

"  Pardon!  oh,  pardon!  ")  and,  with  a  shriek  of  gen- 
uine frenzy,  a  cry  rang  through  the  theatre,  unknown 
in  that  play  before :  "  I  could  kill !  I  could  kill !  Take 
him  away!  Don't  touch  me!  Jean!  Jacques!"  (to 
imaginary  servants)  "  Show  monsieur  to  the  door?  " 
The  prompter  was  running  and  crying:  "  Come  off! 
Come  off!" 

Salvini  dimly  remembered  he  had  to  denounce 
Cora.  He  hesitated — she  bit  her  lips  until  the  blood 
offended  her,  and  unconsciously  tore  into  ribbons 
the  veil  that  bandaged  her  scarred  face. 

Again  that  shriek  rose  to  the  very  roof:  "  I'll 
kill!   I'll  kill!    Go— go— go!" 

A  hand  appeared  between  the  curtains  of  the 
gambling  rooms  and  caught  his  arm  and  drew  him 
away.  As  his  white  face  disappeared  he  said  aghast: 
*'  Mon  Dieu!   she's  gone  quite  mad!  and  I  did  it!  " 

The  words,  the  manner,  were  inspired.  Though 
the  boy  meant  /  was  mad,  the  words  fitted  into  the 
play  so  well  that  only  old-timers  guessed  the  awful 
havoc  he  had  worked  in  the  act.  Small  wonder  the 
doctor  asked  for  me  two  overtures  after  that  act — 
that  I  had  to  finish  alone,  cutting  out  a  few  words 
George  should  have  spoken  at  the  end.  Shame?  No 
one  could  have  sounded  the  depths  of  shame  I  knew. 

But  the  shame :  who  could  sound  the  depths  of  my 
deep  shame  as  with  swift  apologies  to  all  concerned 
I  hurriedly  sought  the  refuge  of  my  dressing-room? 
"  Where  is  Salvini  ?  "  I  asked  presently,  and  people 
looked  at  one  another  and  laughed.  Later  I  said 
again,  "Where's  Salvini?"  for  he  generally  turned 


326  THE  LIFE  OE  A  STAR 

aside  on  his  way  out  of  the  theatre  to  tap  at  my  door 
and  call  a  gay  "  Good-night,  Madame!  "  or  wish  me 
better  health  for  the  next  day,  as  the  occasion  might 
suggest.    But  to-night ! 

"Where's  Salvini?"  repeated  the  gasman;  "why 
he  bolted!  Honestly,  Miss  Morris,  he  left  the  build- 
ing, make-up  and  all,  just  as  you  drove  him  off  the 
stage !  " 

"  Oh !  "  I  groaned,  and  over  me  swept  the  wave 
of  shame  again.  Next  night  my  husband  met  the 
young  actor  by  chance,  who  instantly  flung  up  his 
hands  crying:  "  Oh !  was  it  not  awful?  I — /  to  have 
done  that  thing — to  have  kill  that  act?  "  Mr.  Har- 
riott laughed  as  he  said:  "  You  had  a  happy  escape 
last  night,  for,  for  a  few  moments,  your  Madame 
Clara  certainly  wanted  to  kill  you,"  and  was  aston- 
ished by  the  lad's  answering  with  perfect  serious- 
ness: "As  she  had  the  right!  So  would  my  father 
do,  if  someone  spoiled  his  great  scene — he  would 
kill  with  his  bare  hands!  Last  night  I  get  quite 
crazy,  by  the  head — I  do  all  wrong — all  until  I  kill 
the  play — then  she  want  to  kill  me — and  that's  why 
I  run  away!  Oh,  yes!  I  am  quite  wise — some- 
times! " 

And  though  that  speech  filled  others  with  unquali- 
fied amusement,  his  calm  justification  of  my  wild 
conduct  was  an  actual  balm  to  my  wounded  self- 
respect,  and  ever  after  we  played  on  in  peace  and 
amity. 

Our  ways  parted  at  the  close  of  that  engagement. 
Now  and  again  we  met  briefly,  and  I  had  the  oppor- 


ALESSANDRO  SALVINI  327 

tunity  of  congratulating  him  upon  his  wonderful  ad- 
vance In  his  beloved  profession.  His  chiefest  pride 
seemed  to  be  that  he  had  won  his  father's  approval 
and  his  warm  interest  in  his  work.  But  his  ambition 
soared  high — high.  Never  did  I  see  him  that  he  was 
not  tremblingly  aspiring  to  play  some  new  part.  He 
used  actually  to  change  colour  when  he  spoke  of 
Romeo,  so  intense  were  his  longings  and  his  fears; 
and  when  at  last  he  dared  It — what  an  Ideal  I  Testy 
— tempestuous — tender — "  his  shape,"  "  his  love," 
"  his  wit,"  did  truly  make  him  the  "  fond  madman  " 
old  Laurence  chlded.  He  did  careful  as  well  as  bril- 
liant work.  It  was  not  all  dash  and  instinct  with 
him;  he  could  delve,  could  weigh  and  measure,  and 
give  good  reason  for  his  action.  When  it  came  to 
*'  character  "  work,  such  as  the  grave  and  stolid  Ger- 
man, the  strict  man  of  business,  in  "  Fremont  and 
Risler,"  an  astonishing  performance  came  from  the 
Impetuous  and  romantic  young  Italian. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  early  death  of 
Alessandro  SalvinI  meant  loss  to  the  American  stage, 
serious  loss.  There  was  a  largeness  of  promise  for 
his  future  that  made  many  thoughtful  lovers  of  the 
drama  turn  hopeful  eyes  toward  him,  for,  beneath 
the  dash  and  sparkle  were  energy,  determination, 
and  tenacity. 

Already  he  had  turned  from  veiled  Folly's  secret 
lure  and  smile  to  openly  pursue  the  chosen  one  whose 
flight  led  straight  to  the  church's  open  doors.  Again 
he  was  In  opposition  to  his  great  father's  wishes, 
who   disapproved   of   a   professional   marriage;  yet 


328  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

when,  the  season  ended,  Alessandro  returned  to  Italy, 
the  divinely  beautiful  land  of  his  birth,  his  bride  was 
greeted — how?  Greeted  just  as  you  would  have 
Tommaso  Salvini — Italian  gentleman  and  first  actor 
of  his  time — greet  her,  the  strange  foreign  wife  of 
that  beloved  hot-headed  son  of  his.  Nor  was  his 
gracious  cordiality  mere  propriety,  mere  habitual 
native  hospitality.  For  when  the  day  came  for  flight, 
and  the  returning  pair  faced  toward  America,  Signer 
Salvini's  new  daughter  looked  not  unlike  some  idol, 
glittering  with  votive  offerings — so  be-ringed,  ear- 
ringed,  watched,  locketed,  chained,  braceleted  was 
she  by  the  generosity  of  the  famous  man,  who  thus 
tried  to  express  the  esteem  and  affection  he  felt  for 
the  woman  his  son  had  chosen.  And  Alessandro 
whispered  while  in  his  father's  arms:  "  I  will  never 
oppose  your  will  again,  papa !  Whatever  you  ask, 
that  will  I  do — truly,  truly!  Ah!  do  not  laugh — I 
mean  it!  " 

And  yet  how  short  was  the  time  till  the  great  actor 
implored  in  vain  that  son  to  live — just  to  live — to 
live!  But  habit  was  strong;  Alessandro  had  opposed 
his  adoring  father's  wishes  so  often,  and  he  had 
always  become  quite  reconciled.  Perhaps  even  now — 
he  smiled  lovingly  into  his  pleading  eyes,  but  he  did 
not  live. 


XX 

FROM  SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP 

ONE  of  the  chief  products  of  the  sandy  soil  of 
San  Francisco  is  the  wily,  strategic,  acro- 
batic flea — I  might  say  the  democratic  flea, 
since  all  men  taste  alike  to  him  and  the  clerk  in  the 
boarding-house  hall  bedroom  responding  to  the  fa- 
miliar nip  knows  he  is  rubbing  no  whit  harder  than  is 
the  millionaire  up  on  Nob  Hill,  while  if  the  latter's 
wife  in  shop  or  show-room  betrays  an  inclination  to 
lean  against  the  sharp  edge  of  a  door,  any  San  Fran- 
ciscan present  will  instantly  turn  away  and  thus  gal- 
lantly give  the  lady  her  chance  to  "  bless  the  Duke 
of  Argyle  "  in  peace. 

These  things  you  come  to  understand  in  the  course 
of  time,  but  just  at  first  the  stranger  is  prone  to  laugh 
as  at  fairy  tales  when  told  of  wedding  parties  held  up 
by  these  small,  spry  highwaymen;  of  the  best  man 
frantically  digging  with  one  patent-leather  at  the  tor- 
mented calf  of  the  other  leg;  of  the  minister,  who 
having  been  flea-welted  from  his  heels  up,  could  bear 
no  more,  and  so  reached  over  his  shoulder  and  sav- 
agely scratched  his  back  with  his  prayer-book.  But 
wait,  your  time  will  come  as  mine  did  and  then  you 
will  bless  the  San  Francisco  gentleman  for  his  quick 
perception  of  your  torture,  for  his  silent,  swift  screen- 
ing of  you,  while  you  grasp  your  apparel  with  both 
hands  and  with  one  comprehensive  movement,  twist 

329 


JJ 


".o 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 


everything  half-around  and  back  again,  thus  bring-^ 
ing  confusion  and  sometimes  dislodgement  to  youi 
enemy. 

I  had  played  my  engagement  out  at  the  Californu 
Theatre  and  had  gone  down  to  Passo  de  Robles  foi 
rest  and  for  the  waters  of  that  wonderful  spring,; 
boiling  up  hot,  translucent,  green  as  emeralds  liqui- 
fied, but  smelling  to  Heaven  and  tasting  of  the  othei 
place.   But  my  stay  was  brief  at  the  hotel,  which  wit! 
spreading  wings  sat  hen-like  ready  to  shelter  a  whole 
brood  of  little  chick-like  cottages  scattered  about  it.j 
The  Improvement  Company    had  just,  at  great  exH 
pense,  placed  a  hitching-post  in  front  of  my  cottage,] 
where  the  riding-horses  could  be  left  tied,  that  bein^ 
more  agreeable  to  me  than  the  young  Mexican  lads'j 
primitive  habit  of  peering  into  my  bedroom  windo\ 
to  see  if  I  were  dressed  yet. 

I  was  no  sooner  well  settled  than  the  first  flake  oi 
a  telegraphic  snowstorm  fell.  They  were  in  troublel 
at  the  theatre  in  San  Francisco,  and  wanted  me  backj 
— oh,   my!  Their  announced   attraction   had   failec 
them;  a  local  actress,  a  great  favourite,  who  often! 
played  special  engagements  with  them  and  to  whomj 
they  had  naturally  turned  in  their  difl'iculty,  was  se- 
riously ill.   I  was  therefore  their  only  hope.  Would  Ij 
not  come  back  and  save  them  from  closing  for  several 
nights? — a  fatal  thing  to  do  right  in  the  heart  of  the] 
season? 

I  was  sympathetic  In  ten  words,  concluding  with] 
"  Have  no  play,"  and  went  out  to  ride. 

They  were  frantic,  entreating  in  twenty  words,  and! 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    331 

in  many  more  informed  me  that  the  company  was 
fairly  up  in  one  play,  which  could  be  done  in  two  re- 
hearsals— Sunday  night  and  Monday  morning — if 
only  I  would  undertake  to  study  the  leading  part, 
Jane  Shore.  Gracious  Heavens !  I  nearly  fell  out  of 
of  my  saddle  as  I  read.  Were  they  crazy?  That  old, 
old,  stilted,  blank-verse,  melancholy  play?  And  Jane 
was  longer  than  the  moral  law ;  and  where  were  the 
dresses  to  come  from?  I  became  satirical.  I  could 
not  resist  the  impulse.  I  telegraphed:  "  Don't  hesi- 
tate— If  you  don't  see  what  you  want,  just  ask  for 
it." 

But  they  were  not  to  be  disturbed  by  a  little  thing 
like  that.  The  mail  brought  me  a  copy  of  "  Jane 
Shore,"  and  wires  still  hummed  with  entreaties.  My 
percentage  was  to  be  Increased,  while  their  gratitude 
would  be  eternal. 

I  answered  "Jane  has  no  clothes" — They  re- 
sponded: *' Dead  loads  of  clothes  here.  Wardrobe 
woman  at  your  service  to  correct  loaned  costumes. 
Come  for  Heaven's  sake !  " 

Alas,  the  wet  handkerchief  went  to  my  forehead, 
my  maid  and  husband  packed  and  brewed  coffee  to 
keep  me  awake,  while  I  strove  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  antiquated  Jane;  and  next  day  I  aban- 
doned my  holiday  and  turned  my  face  toward  the 
great  city  on  the  sand — and  work  I 

Seated  by  the  side  of  the  "  woman-hating  "  driver 
I  felt  my  very  soul  expand  with  pride  when  he  passed 
me  the  reins  and  allowed  me  to  guide  the  four  slam- 
ming big  horses.   T  had  gone  down  with  this  same 


332  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

driver,  who  had  at  first  glared  at  me  and  privately 
had  sworn  fire  and  flame  at  having  "  a  damn  cackling 
Avoman  "  on  the  box  with  him.  But  w'hen,  after  sit- 
ting one  whole  afternoon  in  dead  silence  at  his  side, 
I  had  suddenly  informed  him  that  his  "  nigh  leader  " 
had  picked  up  a  stone,  he  spoke  surprisedly  of  my 
knowing  enough  to  see  that  quicker  than  he  could. 
Then  next  morning  at  dawn,  with  a  cry  of  delight,  I 
had  grasped  his  arm  and  pointed  to  a  gaunt,  brood- 
ing, almost  tragic  shape  outlined  high  against  the 
shell-pink  sky,  he  excitedly  answered:  "  A  bald  eagle, 
by — thunder!  Say,  that's  only  the  second  one  I've 

ever  seen   In   these   'ere   mountains!  Well,   by 

(some  more  things)  you  use  your  eyes  more  than 
your  tongue !  " 

And  from  that  out  we  were  on  such  friendly  terms 
that  when  I  made  my  final  bear-like  backward  descent 
from  the  coach,  he  told  me  I  must  surely  return  with 
him:  "But,"  I  laughed  in  answer,  "suppose  some 
man  is  ahead  of  me  and  has  the  box-seat?  " 

"  Why,"  replied  my  red-shirted  friend,  "  If  he's  a 
gentleman  he'll  climb  right  out,  and  if  he  isn't,  I'll 
h'ist  him  out — savvy!  eh?"  He  wagged  a  grimy 
forefinger  before  my  face,  adding  emphatically: 
"  You'll  ride  on  the  box,  and  you'll  hold  the  reins, 
and  you  may  turn  the  whole  damn'd  outfit  over  If  you 
want  ter.  I'm  talking  now — so  you  tell  your  pardner 
there,  that  you're  to  go  back  with  me !  So  long, — git 
up  there,  will  yer!  " 

And  now  I  was  going  back  and  I  was  driving  with 
the  great  reins  cutting  my  thin  gloves  into  ribbons 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    ^^^ 

and  incidentally  blistering  my  palms,  while  pride  kept 
me  from  giving  them  up  as  long  as  he  trusted  me  with 
them. 

Then  suddenly  there  came  a  burning  sting  in  my 
side  accompanied  by  a  rapidly  spreading  itchiness  of 
such  exquisite  intensity  of  torment  as  I  had  never 
dreamed  of  before.  I  gave  a  little  "  Oh!  "  and  tried 
to  rub  my  side  with  my  elbow.  Another  sting — I 
writhed  in  misery !  The  driver  had  just  removed  the 
handle  of  his  whip  from  between  his  shoulder  blades, 
where  he  had  been  churning  it  up  and  down,  appar- 
ently to  his  great  comfort;  and  turning  comprehend- 
ing eyes  upon  me,  he  inquired  briefly:  "Fleas?" 
Then  taking  the  reins,  he  added  with  perfect  calm- 
ness and  simplicity:  "  If  they're  about  your  stocking, 
Miss  Clara,  I'll  hitch  around  a  bit  and  you  can  go 
for 'em?" 

One  indignant  glance  I  flashed  at  him  only  to 
meet  such  honest  and  sympathetic  eyes  that  wild  mer- 
riment seized  upon  me  and  I  laughed  so  long  and  so 
hard  that  the  driver  gazed  and  gazed  and  at  last  com- 
mented, half-sullenly :  "Well,  I  never  see  anyone 
afore  able  ter  laugh  at  fleas!  I've  laughed  with  a 
shot  through  my  shoulder,  when  I  stood  off  stage  rob- 
bers that  were  trying  to  hold  up  the  old  shebang — 
but  laughing  at  fleas  is  too  many  for  me!  "  Then  so 
contagious  is  real  tear-wringing  merriment,  he  too  be- 
gan to  rumble  forth  an  accompanying  laughter,  jolly 
and  good  to  hear  out  there  in  the  pale  green  loneliness, 
under  the  mighty  arch  of  blue.  Presently  he  drew 
the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes  and  declared  he 


334  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

hadn't  laughed  so  much  since  the  last  time  his  mother 
had  tried  to  lick  him,  when  her  slipper  flew  out  of 
her  hand  and  went  down  the  well,  and  she  had  to  pay 
him  to  fish  it  out  again! 

Then  there  was  an  unpleasantly  full  and  rapidly 
moving  stream  to  ford,  and  the  driver  warned  me  to 
hold  tight  for  fear  some  sudden  lurch  might  throw 
me  off.  The  whip  hissed  harmlessly  over  the  four 
horses,  who  with  ears  laid  back  plunged  into  the 
water  and  amid  alternate  curses  and  endearments 
slipped  and  stumbled  over  the  stony  bottom.  Then, 
coming  out  on  the  sand,  strained  to  four  level  lines 
of  backs  with  every  muscle  made  visible  In  the  des- 
perate effort  to  keep  the  coach  from  stalling  In  the 
clutching  sand.  Tears  were  running  down  my  cheeks 
when  we  came  out  upon  solid  earth  again  and  when 
I  laid  my  hand  on  the  driver's  and  looked  beseech- 
ingly at  him,  he  said:  "  All  right — hola !  whoa  Jim! 
whoa  boys!  "  and  as  they  stood  panting,  leaning  their 
shoulders  against  one  another,  he  added:  "That 
damn'd  sand  pull  takes  more  than  ten  miles  of  travel 
out  of  them  horses !  Say,  after  this,  I'll  give  'em  this 
breathin'  spell — for  you — every  time — sure!  I'm 
square — and  that  stands,  Miss  Morris!  " 

A  promise  that  made  my  heart  rejoice,  and  several 
years  afterward,  meeting  John  McCullough,  he  asked 
me  if  I  remembered  the  "  woman-hating "  stage 
driver.  I  said  that  I  did — "  Well,"  he  went  on,  "  he 
returns  the  compliment,  for  there's  a  spot  on  the  road 
where  he  gives  his  team,  what  he  calls  "  the  Morris 
breather." 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    335 

My  return  to  the  theatre  was  hailed  with  joy,  my 
reception  was  touching  in  the  extreme — for  you  see 
no  man  can  be  indifferent  to  the  person  who  helps  to 
defend  his  pocketbook.  I  drove  those  wrong-end-to 
lines  of  Rowe's  composing  into  my  memory  by  main 
force,  shocked  everyone  by  expressing  my  strong  pref- 
erence for  the  treacherous  Alicia,  as  an  acting  part, 
rather  than  the  lachrymose  Jane;  borrowed  one  gown, 
had  the  last  garment,  known  to  the  old-time  chronicler 
as  a  "  white  shift,"  made  and  with  the  aid  of  a  velvet 
robe  I  chanced  to  have  with  me,  provided  Jane  with 
a  sort  of  wardrobe. 

Just  to  show  how  hard  It  Is  to  balk  an  actress  of 
her  will  when  she  really  thinks  she  requires  a  certain 
material  for  a  stage  costume,  let  me  tell  you  about 
that  same  "  white  shift."  At  that  time  the  only  crape 
known  to  our  commerce  was  the  stiff  black  horror 
used  for  mourning  gowns  and  the  exquisite  but  rare 
and  oh,  how  costly,  white  china  crape.  The  crinkly 
softness  of  this  last  was  delightfully  effective  for 
stage  use,  and  all  these  craped  weaves  of  wool  and 
cotton  were  yet  unknown.  Jane  Shore,  barefooted, 
taper  in  hand,  makes,  according  to  her  sentence, 
shameful  public  penance;  her  nudity  concealed  by  one 
sole  garment,  a  chemise,  and  that  all  stained  by  mud 
and  filth  flung  by  the  mob. 

Crape — my  soul  cried  out  for  the  crinkly  clinging 
of  crape,  for  this  sole  garment  of  shame  and  woe!  I 
sighed  at  the  thought  of  deliberately  soiling  the  lovely 
fabric;  sighed  again  at  the  heavy  cost  for  one  week 
of  wear,  and  then  found  I  could  not  obtain  it — not 


336  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

until  the  coming  in  of  the  City  of  Something  from 
China ;  and  two  days  only  we  had  to  work  in,  remem- 
ber. Straightway  I  experimented  with  a  rag  in  a  bowl 
of  water,  and  then  obtained  soft,  thin,  unbleached 
cotton — a  beautiful  night-white  that — got  many  yards 
and  had  the  whole  soaked  in  water,  then  wrung  tight 
as  man's  hands  could  wring  it,  and  leaving  it  in  that 
hard  twist,  had  it  dried  rapidly  by  furnace  heat,  then 
unrolled  and  shook  out  to  find  a  creamy,  crinkly, 
clinging  material  that  might  joy  the  eye  of  any  artist; 
and  everyone  rejoiced  with  me  and  cried  "  Glory  to 
Allah !  " 

But  the  "  creation,"  to  quote  the  great  Worth's 
favourite  expression,  was  not  complete,  even  after  it 
had  been  "  run  up  "  into  a  sort  of  shapeless,  graceful 
trail.  All  actors  know  the  utter  hopelessness  of  try- 
ing to  manufacture  rags — it  can't  be  done.  No  won- 
der that  even  the  stout-hearted,  the  stately  Cushman, 
w^ept  true  womanly  tears,  when  by  carelessness  or  theft 
some  of  her  precious  Meg  Merrilies  rags,  worn  for 
twenty  years,  w^ere  lost.  And  one  actor,  that  I  re- 
member, advertised  and  later  on  paid  for  an  entire 
"  made  to  order  "  suit  of  clothes,  for  the  return  of 
the  ragged  coat  and  trousers  of  his  part.  If  you  doubt 
it — try  it  yourself.  A  skirt  Is  the  easiest  article  to 
experiment  on,  but  when  you  have  done  your  very 
best  you  will  have  to  acknowledge  a  failure.  The 
worn,  frayed,  dismally-faded  look  is  absent,  and  the 
tears  are  too  violent  and  generally  unexplalnable. 
Then  a  soiled  garment  Is  even  harder  to  manage. 
Rags  you  can  buy,  if  you  have  a  little  tact  as  well  as 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    y^j 

money — but,  dear  Heaven !  you  don't  want  to  buy 
dirt! 

A  friend  experimented  on  a  white  skirt  for  me  on 
this  occasion,  but  the  result  was  artificial  in  the  ex- 
treme— splotches  of  dirt  on  a  perfectly  clean  surface. 
I  read  again  carefully  the  speech  wherein  Jane's  ap- 
pearance is  described:  her  meekness,  her  exhaustion, 
her  footsteps  all  marked  with  blood — the  need  of  rai- 
ment to  wrap  her  shivering  bosom  from  the  weather. 
How  on  her  shoulders,  carelessly  confused,  with  loose 
neglect,  her  lovely  tresses  hung;  and  the  mob,  hoot- 
ing and  railing  and  w'ith  villainous  hands  gathering 
the  filth  from  out  the  common  ways  to  hurl  upon 
her. 

There  was  our  cue.  I  gave  my  spotless  gown  of 
penance  to  the  chambermaid,  begging  her  to  dust  the 
tables,  chairs  and  chiffonieres  with  it  that  day  and  at 
night  I  had  my  friend  don  it  and  stand  In  the  stage 
door,  while  the  property-man  literally  followed  the 
poet's  words  and  flung  dirt,  letting  it  strike  where  it 
would.  Then  a  few  tufts  of  grass  crushed  against 
the  hem  and  about  the  knees  gave  the  greenish  stains 
of  falls  upon  earth,  when  she  had  "  scaped  the  flinty 
pavements  for  a  time."  And  with  a  faint  smear  or 
two  of  blood  in  front  communicated  from  the 
wounded  feet,  I  had  at  last  as  sad,  as  sorrowful,  as 
shamed  a  garment  as  ever  "  sinful  woman  starved 
and  dee'd  In."  Actresses  the  world  over  are  full  of 
inventiveness,  of  adaptability,  of  power  to  lightly  and 
swiftly  skip  around  the  obstacle  they  cannot  push 
aside.  Of  course   the   craping   of   the   cotton   was   a 


338  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

very  simple  device  which  had  probably  been  practised 
by  many  another  actress  prompted  thereto  by  Mama 
Necessity.  But  other  inventions  of  mine  are  more 
original,  more  worthy  of  attention  and  some  day 
when  you  have  time  and  are  graciously  inclined  I 
will  present  them  for  your  consideration,  in  company 
with  the  best  effort  of  a  brother  actor,  who  because 
of  it  was  known  to  fame  as  Mr.  Tackhammer 
Thomas,  and  whose  loving  friends  when  inquiring 
about  the  health  of  his  offspring,  invariably  asked 
after  his  Little  Tacks,  and  told  him  never  to — but 
oh,  I  beg  your  pardon ! 

"  Jane  Shore "  was  announced  in  three-story 
red  type  and  the  management,  hoping  doubtless  to 
arouse  In  the  public  a  certain  spirit  of  clemency  and 
forbearance  toward  the  hurried  and  harried,  whose 
work  might  well  prove  below  the  usual  standard,  had 
given  to  the  press  the  story  of  the  abandoned  holi- 
day, the  gorging  of  the  blank  verse  part  and  my 
reappearance  after  but  tw-o  rehearsals.  The  story 
caught  the  fancy  of  the  people,  they  thought  they 
saw  a  touch  of  good-fellowship  in  it  and  straightway 
they  enthused.  They  liked  the  hustle  of  this  man- 
ager; they  raved  over  the  generosity  of  the  star's 
ready  return  and  my  mild  reminder  that  mygenerosity 
was  well  paid  for  did  not  in  the  least  affect  them.  Of 
course  it  was  all  exaggerated,  even  absurd,  but,  good 
Heaven,  look  at  the  sunshine  out  there !  And  the  cli- 
mate! 

Imagine  my  feelings  if  you  can,  after  climbing  de- 
jectedly onto  my  high  stilts  ready  to  wade  before  a 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    339 

light  house  through  the  gross,  dull,  tedious,  old 
play,  to  go  on  Instead  to  a  house  full  of  smiling, 
bright-eyed  people,  who  greeted  and  joyously  wel- 
comed, until  pleased  surprise  changed  to  a  sort  of 
humility,  a  shamed  delight,  that  brought  my  head 
low  upon  my  breast  and  left  me  for  the  moment 
helpless,  confused  and  unable  to  recall  one  line  of  the 
prolix  and  prosy  Jane.  Fortunately  Belmoiir  (Harry 
Edwards)  had  to  speak  first  and  his  word  brought  my 
memory  back  to  me  and  from  a  sense  of  mischief — 
which  was  artistically  simply  unpardonable — I  spoke 
my  opening  line  directly  at  the  audience,  Instead  of  to 
my  companion : 

"  My  gentle  neighbour,  your  good  wishes  still 
Pursue  my  helpless  fortunes     .     .     ." 

And  the  words  were  scarcely  over  my  lips  before  a 
burst  of  applause  and  laughter  answered  me  delight- 
edly. You  see  It  takes  more  even  than  Rowe's  verse 
to  dull  the  perception  of  our  audiences. 

We  were  going  on  famously  and  with  astonishing 
smoothness,  all  things  considered,  for  the  cast  was 
an  exceptionally  strong  one  and  we  had  been  work- 
ing together  for  the  past  month,  and  that  tells  greatly 
In  such  an  emergency,  and  I  had  got  out  of  my  bor- 
rowed gown,  also  that  gross  and  Pecksniffian  scene 
with  Hastings  was  happily  behind  me,  and  my 
bosom's  lord  was  sitting  quite  lightly  on  his  throne, 
when  I  began  to  wonder  at  the  effect  my  second  cos- 
tume was  having  upon  the  actors.  Some  raised  their 


340  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

hands  above  their  heads  in  mock  horror,  some  smirked 
and  bowed  and  kissed  their  hands  at  my  train  and 
murmured:  "Thanks,  so  much." 

It  was  handsome — I  knew  that.  It  was  fairly  cor- 
rect— of  ruby  velvet,  square-necked,  tight  inner 
sleeves,  long  hanging  outer  sleeves  and  immense  train 
trimmed  all  around  with  broad  bands  of  fine,  long- 
haired fur — yet  glee,  unmistakable,  malicious  glee 
danced  in  every  eye  that  fell  upon  that  gown. 

As  I  stood  ready  to  go  on  to  the  scene  with  Gloster, 
the  head-carpenter  grinned  and  said:  "Well,  Miss 
Morris,  you  ain't  lacking  in  no  nerve  anyway,"  and 
to  my  amazed  look  answered:  "That's  a  fine  dress, 
but  by  the  great  Bonanza !  I'd  rather  you'd  wear  it 
than  me  though — unless  I'd  just  had  my  hide  chemi- 
cally treated!  " 

And  then  my  cue  came  and  as  with  calm  dignity  I 
swept  on  to  face  my  dread  foe  I  saw  standing  in  the 
opposite  entrance,  one  known  to  us  all  as  "  The  first 
fiend."  He  was  consulting  an  enormous  silver  turnip 
of  a  watch,  which  had  a  white  old  face  but  no  hands, 
and  he  said  loudly  enough  for  me  to  hear:  "How 

long — let's    see   how    long    before "    and    dear 

Heaven,  it  was  not  long!  I  was  only  in  my  second 
speech : 

"  Ohj  that  the  busy  world  at  least  in  this. 
Would  take  example  from  a  wretch  like  me!** 

when  I  felt  a  burning  sting,  a  spreading,  penetrating 
itchiness  that  seemed  to  reach  the  very  marrow  of  the 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    341 

bones,  and  as  by  lightning  flash  I  saw  the  joke  about 
my  dress,  that  fur  meant  fleas !  With  wide-flaring 
eyes  and  quivering  nostrils  I  went  on — when  nip ! 
again  just  beneath  my  shoulder  blade !  I  writhed 
and  twisted  in  positive  torment.  Gloster  who  saw  and 
understood  my  suffering,  stalked  over  to  me  and  in 
august  dignity  secretly  scratched  my  back — in  the 
wrong  place.  Oh,  never  again !  I  vowed  as  beads  of 
sweat  came  out  upon  my  brow,  never!  would  I  jest  at 
the  local  flea — for  now  the  enemy  was  upon  me !  and 
verily  he  was  smiting  me  hip  and  thigh !  Disconcerted 
by  such  maddening  itchiness,  such  astonishing  rapacity, 
my  memory  tottered.  I  stammered  as  I  surreptitiously 
rubbed  here  and  clutched  there,  but  was  unaware  that 
the  house  had  guessed  the  cause  of  the  starts  and  stops 
and  choppy  speeches.  At  last — oh,  at  long  last — the 
scene  was  drawing  to  a  close.  Bitten  almost  from 
head  to  foot,  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  suffering,  I 
flung  myself  upon  my  knees  and  passionately  begin- 
ning the  speech: 

"  Let  me  be  branded  for  the  public  scorn!  " 

had  reached  the  line: 

"  Ere  I  consent  to  teach  my  lips  injustice!  " 

when  again  the  burning  twinge,  the  agonising  itch, 
and  glancing  down,  there  upon  the  whiteness  of  my 
breast,  his  slim  thighs  hunched  high  like  a  grass- 
hopper, sat  the  biggest,  blackest,  most  warlike  flea  I 


342  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

ever  saw.  I  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  word — I 
had  no  thought  of  witnesses — my  finger  tip  flew  to 
my  moistening  lips  and  like  a  flash  descended  upon 
and  clutched  my  foe — while  good  and  loud,  the  man 
at  the  kettle-drum  cried,  triumphantly:  "She's  got 
him !  " 

Shall  I  ever  forget  that  mighty  roar  of  laughter — 
then  applause — then  of  laughter  and  applause  !  How 
it  rolled  and  rumbled  away  only  to  burst  forth  again. 
Next  day  brought  me  a  bunch  of  flowers  accompanied 
by  a  fine-tooth  comb,  and  this  message:  "For  that 
long  fur — from  one  who  has  suffered !  " — while  a 
round-robin  of  thanks  from  the  company  was  found 
pinned  to  my  red  gown,  that  declared:  "  Every  flea 
in  the  theatre  has  accepted  your  invitation  and  is 
camping  in  this  fur,  and  so  giving  us  a  rest — thanks, 
dear  friend!  " 

Long  afterwards,  in  New  York  City,  Miss  Gene- 
vieve Ward  was  producing  with  spectacular  effects 
"  Jane  Shore,"  and  alas,  in  her  magnificent  velvets 
and  furs  she  met  full  in  the  face  one  of  our  awful 
September  hot  waves — 95  during  the  day — and  at 
night  the  heat  in  the  gaslit  theatre  was  terrible.  Num- 
bers of  people  were  removed  quite  overcome.  Miss 
Ward  showed  a  marvellous  power  of  patient  endur- 
ance. No  fan  even  did  she  carry  and  though  her  face 
and  throat  and  breast  rained  perspiration,  not  a  move- 
ment or  gesture  betrayed  her  physical  discomfort.  I 
was  stifling  in  a  box,  but  for  sweet  courtesy's  sake 
would  not  withdraw.  Then  an  old  gentleman,  who 
had  stared  rather  persistently  at  me  through  his  great 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP     343 

glass,  sent  a  card  to  the  box  on  the  back  of  which  was 
scribbled:  "  Does  Jane  Shore  always  have  such  hard 
luck  on  first  nights?  It's  190  down  here  and  no 
shade,  and  I  protest  this  is  worse  than  fleas — my 
homage!  " 

A  laugh  broke  from  my  lips — I  glanced  downward 
and  nodded  slightly,  when  the  white  haired  old  man 
astonished  those  about  him  by  rising,  placing  his 
hand  over  his  heart  and  bowing  to  the  breaking  point. 
Of  course  on  turning  over  the  card  I  found  the  ad- 
dress was  San  Francisco. 

Curiosity  had  prompted  me  to  accept  tempting  of- 
fers to  visit  some  of  the  principal  mining  centres  on 
my  way  East — those  strange,  raw,  rough-edged 
mountain  cities  where  a  bank  or  Insurance  building 
will  rear  Its  splendour  of  marble,  of  plate-glass,  of 
electric  lighting,  of  mahogany  furnishings,  side  by 
side  with  a  camper's  tent.  Where  the  fine  hotel  stands 
dos-a-dos  with  the  clay-chinked  log  house  of  an  early 
settler.  Where  a  stately  church  or  two  tightly  close 
their  eyes  all  the  week  not  to  see  the  faro-bank,  the 
opium-joint,  the  dance-hall  and  the  saloon — who  gaily 
chassee  up  to  their  very  doors.  Prairie  schooners  trail 
slowly  through  the  streets  where  at  night  the  Inky 
shadows  and  strange  swimming  radiance  of  the  arc- 
light  terrify  country  horses  and  solemn  swaying  oxen. 
Where  the  erect,  alert,  perfectly  dressed  Eastern  busi- 
ness man  stands  chatting  with  the  countryman  who 
seems  all  boot-tops  and  fur  cap.  Where  the  miner  Is 
by  daylight  conspicuous  by  his  absence — being  away 


344  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

at  his  toll,  and  the  prettiest  and  most  promising  of 
sights  is  the  well-built,  well-lighted  schoolhouse, 
swarming  with  the  burliest  of  little  chaps  and  the 
rosiest  of  little  maids.  I  was  of  course  far  from  com- 
fortable in  the  make-shift  theatres,  but  the  people  in- 
terested me  greatly.  I  had  become  too  all  mixed  up 
geographically  and  was  quite  unaware  that  we  were 
steadily  climbing  higher  and  higher,  as  we  looped  and 
circled  and  zig-zagged  our  way  through  the  grim 
grandeur  of  the  repellent  Rockies;  and  one  night  I 
awakened  from  a  horrid  dream  of  suffocation,  to  find 
myself  astonishingly  short  of  breath  and  much  puz- 
zled by  the  loud  thumping  and  curious  antics  of  my 
heart — that  now  and  then  beat  heavily  in  the  locality 
I  had  supposed  to  be  sacred  to  the  stomach;  and  while 
I  was  still  in  the  wonder  of  that,  up  it  sprang  into  the 
hollow  of  my  throat,  fluttering  irregularly  and  scar- 
ing me  into  a  search  for  smelling  salts.  Next  day  I 
yawned  and  yawned  and  sighed  and  sighed  and  on 
our  arrival,  in  walking  about  half  a  block  to  reach  the 
waiting  hack,  I  stopped  outright  and  clutched  my 
labouring  chest.  Some  baggage-  and  hack-men  stand- 
ing by  grinned  broadly  at  me.  Now  I  am  so  consti- 
tuted that  should  a  ravening  wild  animal  grin  at  me 
I'd  instantly  respond  without  asking  his  intentions; 
therefore  I  smiled  back,  a  trifle  wonderingly  at  these 
men,  and  as  my  driver,  with  clumsy  care  assisted  me 
into  his  ancient  ark,  he  remarked:  "  It's  pretty  tough 
on  a  stranger,  mum,  I  reckon  just  at  first,"  and 
slammed  the  door. 

"What  was  tough?"  I  asked  myself  and  looked 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    345 

out  inquiringly.  "  If  he  means  the  steepness  of  the 
streets,  why  this  is  nothing  to  Seattle's  terrifying 
grades." 

By  night,  I  suppose  I  had  said  to  myself  a  hundred 
times:  "Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  me?  "  Ev^en 
my  dog  was  unhappy  and  disturbed,  rising  and  whirl- 
ing around  and  around,  trying  a  new  position  nearly 
every  ten  minutes.  I  was  ashamed  to  speak  of  not 
being  able  to  catch  my  breath.  I  thought  the  sighing 
and  yawning  meant  perhaps  indigestion,  until  in  my 
dressing-room  in  attempting  to  hasten  a  little,  my 
breathlessness  frightened  me.  Sharply  I  threw  open 
the  door  and  outside  I  saw  one  of  my  ladies  leaning 
against  the  wall,  her  eyes  closed,  her  hand  pressed  to 
her  side,  an  image  of  distress;  and  directly  in  front 
of  me  an  actor  dressed  for  his  part  stood  in  sullen  pa- 
tience wiping  the  trickling  blood  from  his  nose,  and 
like  a  flash,  as  if  in  letters  of  fire,  I  seemed  to  see  the 
words :  "  Leadville — 10,200  feet  above  the  sea-level." 
I  recalled  how  a  friend  of  mine,  after  a  hemorrhage, 
had  with  blood  still  flowing  from  the  nostrils  been 
rushed  to  a  lower  level  in  a  special  car,  in  a  frantic 
effort  to  save  her  life.  It  was  this  altitude  then  that 
made  it  "  tough  for  strangers  "  just  at  first.  "  Oh  !  " 
I  thought,  "  if  Heaven  will  only  grant  me  breath  to 
get  through  this  night's  work,  I  shall  have  just  sense 
enough  to  keep  away  from  Leadville  all  the  rest  of 
my  lifel  "  But  oh,  there  was  so  much  play  and  so 
little  breath !  I  had  got  through  one  act  only  and  my 
condition  seemed  alarming.  One  of  the  stage  hands 
came  up  to  me  and  said  wistfully:  "  Miss  Morris,  I 


3j6  the  life  of  A  STAR 

came  from  your  city;  will  you  shake  hands  with  me, 
just  for  old  New  York's  sake?  " 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "willingly I" 

As  he  held  my  fingers  tightly,  he  went  on :  "I 
climbed  over  a  fence  last  night  and  turned  loose  a 
captive  hawk,  they  had  there  in  misery,  poor  devil  I 
If  you  could  only  have  seen  him  rise  out  of  that 
place !  Holy  smoke !  "  I  said,  "  I  wish  I  could  fly  like 
that,  I'd  just  swoop  down  these  damned  mountains 
and  whirl  into  the  old  City  Hall  Park  in  New  York, 
and — good  Lord,  woman,  don't  strain  and  struggle  so 
like  that  for  breath  or  you'll  burst  a  blood  vessel! 
See  here — breathe  like  this.  I  know  you  feel  as  if 
you'll  die  in  a  minute  or  two,  but  you  won't  if  only 
you'll  take  it  easier.  Here — drop  your  arms  limp 
beside  you,  and  then  catch  lightly,  quickly  but  lightly, 
at  the  air — see — like  this."  Two  men  passed  between 
us  carrying  a  table:  "Well,  the  devil  take  your  im- 
pudence! "  cried  my  mentor.  "  Keep  out  of  the  way, 
can't  you?  I'm  trying  to  help  the  star  to  breathe!  " 
And  the  star  suddenly  proved  she  had  breath  enough 
for  at  least  laughter.  Again  and  again  he  warned  me, 
entreatingly,  profanely:  "Don't  struggle  so  damn'd 
hard — you'll  do  yourself  a  damage !  " 

And  then  at  last  the  dreaded  scene  came.  We  had 
been  playing  "  Camille  "  in  the  other  mining  towns, 
but  thinking  to  lighten  my  work  for  a  night  or  two,  a 
German  play,  I  loathed,  had  been  put  on  and  one  act 
closed  with  the  longest,  most  exhausting  speech  I  ever 
had  to  deliver  in  a  play.  Standing  between  husband 
and  mother-in-law,  she  sums  up  all  the  unhappiness 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    347 

of  her  past,  makes  furious  accusations  and  finally  de- 
livers a  mad  malediction  and  flings  out  of  the  house. 
I  began — my  breath  came  short  and  quick.  I  spoke 
more  and  more  rapidly.  My  nostrils  began  to  show 
dead  white  edges  from  extreme  dilation.  My  mentor 
crowded  Into  the  prompt  place  and  wildly  shook  head 
and  hands  at  me.  I  gasped  painfully  and  unhooked 
the  bottom  of  my  dress  waist — a  little  relief  came.  I 
went  on  rapidly  with  rising  voice,  my  hands  clutching 
at  my  heart,  and  further  opening  my  dress.  The  lead- 
ing man  edged  closer  to  me  and  whispered:  "For 
God's  sake,  go  easy !  "  A  sort  of  fury  seized  upon 
me — I  could  have  struck  him  for  his  warning.  I  reck- 
lessly determined  to  give  the  speech  as  usual  though 
I  died  for  It !  In  just  such  senseless  rages  women  have 
taken  their  foolish  lives  ere  now.  I  flung  wide  my 
arms  and  began : 

"  May  you  sorrow  through  the  days  and  agonise  through 
the  nights  as  I  have  done !  " 

I  tried  to  moisten  my  parched  lips  and  tore  on  through 
the  endless  speech.  Then  I  began  to  falter — I  couldn't 
breathe !  Was  I  lost — had  I  failed  when  so  near  the 
end?  I  remembered  vaguely  the  relief  at  opening  my 
dress.  Without  a  thought,  save  for  breath — blessed 
breath ! — I  turned  one  moment,  caught  the  top  of  my 
corset  and  with  a  violent  twist  and  wrench  unclasped 
it — then  whirled  about  and  like  a  very  fury,  cursed 
man  and  woman  both — dashed  the  door  open  and  fell 
headlong  into  someone's  arms — as   the  curtain   ran 


34^  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

down,  and  in  my  mentor's  words:  "  Hell  broke  loose 
out  in  front !  " 

Water  and  spirits  of  ammonia  stood  me  upon  my 
feet  directly,  but  mortal  shame  kept  me  from  going 
before  the  curtain:  "  What  will  they  think  of  me?  " 
I  wept  as  I  drew  my  gown  together  with  both  hands. 

"Think?  think?"  cried  the  head  carpenter, 
"  They'll  think  you're  the  grittiest  thing  that's  struck 
this  town  for  many  a  year!  Why,  they  all  know  what 
you  was  unbucklin'  your  belt  for — they  used  to  do  it 
themselves  once !  You  go  on  out  there,  or  there'll  be 
a  riot — sure's  your  born !  " 

And  I  went  out  and  learned  something  of  what  the 
honest  miner  can  do  with  his  hands  when  he's  not 
mining  for  lead,  silver,  or  gold!  One  old  chap,  In  a 
bearskin  coat,  stood  up  and  beat  the  chair  back  with 
his  soft  felt  hat,  crying :  "  Bray-vo !  Bray-vo  I  "  while 
a  little  group  of  "  our  social  leaders,"  perfectly  coif- 
fured,  well  wrapt  in  the  soft  splendour  of  rare  furs, 
sat  and  dried  their  eyes  on  small  rags  of  costly  lace, 
and  clapped  their  white-gloved  hands,  as  fair  to  eyes, 
as  sweet  to  scent  as  hot-house  flowers — but  so  incon- 
gruously placed  that  I  was  not  surprised  when  the 
gas-man  remarked  to  the  prompter:  "  Say,  seein'  them 
lovely  women  come  here's  kinder  like  havin'  a  pipe- 
dream,  pard !  "  And  the  prompter  took  the  pen- 
holder from  between  his  lips  to  answer:  "Yep,  but 
it's  just  for  such  pretty,  helpless  things  that  men  turn 
themselves  Into  moles  and  go  burrowing  through  the 
earth.  No  woman — no  miner!" 

The  play  was  over  and  moving  cautiously  about  I 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    349 

had  made  ready  for  my  car,  when  I  was  halted  by  my 
manager,  who  with  a  secret  gesture  that  appealed  for 

pardon,  presented  to  me  a  Mr. ,  dear  me,  I  can't 

recall  the  name,  yet  I  do  not  weep.  It  is  enough  that 
I  recall  him — his  feet  of  height,  his  rolling  gait,  his 
clothing  of  fine  material,  but  suicidal  cut,  his  long 
black  cigar  clenched  by  big  square  teeth  at  an  angle 
of  forty-five  degrees,  his  habit  of  wearing  hands, 
wrists,  and  part  of  his  arms  in  his  trousers  pockets, 
the  unpleasantly  bulging  butt  of  his  revolver — all 
failed  to  impress  me  pleasantly.  He  had  the  small 
black  eye,  with  the  red  spark  in  it,  that  I  cordially 
dislike;  then  too  I  am  rarely  addressed,  in  the  house 
at  least,  by  a  man  who  keeps  his  hat  on ;  and  on  this 
occasion  I  threw  so  much  of  my  disgruntled  soul  into 
my  amazed  stare  at  that  offending  sombrero,  that  he 
took  it  off  and  held  it  in  a  beringed  hand,  while  he 
affably  addressed  me  thus: 

"Well,  you  gathered  in  the  town!  Of  course  I 
knew  you  were  a  sure  winner — could  out-pace,  out- 
trot  anything  on  the  track — er — I  mean,  I  knew  you 
were  a  bang-up  actress — but  you  passed  the  limit  to- 
night. And  (holding  out  his  hand)  I  want  to  tell 
you,  that  I'm  damn'd  glad  to  see  you've  got  through 
alive — I  am  so !  " 

I  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment:  "  Why,  what  do 
you  mean?"  I  stammered. 

"  Mean  just  what  I  say.  Of  course  I  knew  you 
were  not  strong  and  this  here  atmosphere  has  laid  out 
quite  a  few  strangers  and — well,  I  hardly  thought 
you  could  pull  the   show  off — thought  you'd  back 


350  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

down  and  pay  me  my  loss  rather  than  have  some- 
thing risky  happen.  I  saw  from  the  first  things  were 
going  hard  with  you,  and  when  you  fired  up  and  be- 
gan gittin'  in  your  fine  work,  I  remembered  the  ten- 
derfoot that  came  up  here  a  week  or  so  ago,  and  who 
got  mad  'cause  he  thought  himself  cheated  out  of 
some  shares  he  claimed,  and  he  didn't  really  have 
breath  enough  to  swear  with;  and  though  we  told 
him  he'd  bust  somethin',  he  wouldn't  take  the  tip,  but 
went  right  on,  got  red  in  the  face,  and  suddenly, 
(snapping  his  fingers),  there  he  was,  and  we  had  to 
send  his  remains  down  to  his  friends,  just  before  you- 
all  come  up.  So  when  I  see  you  gasp  and  fight  and  let 
out  a  reef  here  and  another  one  there  to  catch  just  a 
breath,  I  thought  you  was  buckin'  for  busted  blood 
vessels  sure,  and  I'm  pleased  as  punch  that  you've 
come  out  alive!  " 

In  indignant  tones,  I  said:  "You  believed  then  I 
ran  considerable  personal  risk  in  acting  up  here?  " 

He  nodded  and  winked  as  he  ejaculated:  "You 
bet!" 

"  Yet  you  never  wrote  one  word  to  my  manager  of 
advice,  of  friendly  warning — never  suggested  even  a 
lighter  play?  " 

He  half  closed  one  eye:  "Oh,  come  now.  Miss 
Morris,"  he  said,  drawing  into  sight  a  lot  of  coin  and 
bills,  "you  know  business  is  business!  " 

The  insolent  self-satisfaction  of  the  man  was  so 
Irritating,  that  I  answered:  "Yes — and  I  am  so  fa- 
miliar with  its  methods  that  I  feel  compelled  to  tell 
you  sir,  this  has  not  been  '  business,'  it  has  been  a  gam- 


SAND-DUNE  TO  MOUNTAIN-TOP    351 

ble  on  your  part!  Good-night!  "  and  for  the  life  of 
me  I  could  not  put  out  my  hand  to  him. 

Down  on  the  sidewalk  some  people  waited,  and 
while  my  husband  struggled  with  the  offended  and 
obstinate  hack-door,  a  slender,  black-draped  woman 
stepped  up  beside  me  and  laid  an  ungloved  hand  upon 
my  arm : 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  almost  whispered,  "  but  I  must 
thank  you — your  presence  here  is  like  a  breath  from 
the  old  home  life  down  by  the  Atlantic.  But  go  away 
soon — get  to  a  lower  level !  Such  a  scare  as  you  gave 
me  to-night !  It  was  great  acting,  but  I  just  clung  to 
the  chair  and  prayed  and  prayed  for  God  to  spare  you 
from  disaster!  " 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said  gratefully,  and  became  con- 
scious that  the  slender  forefinger  bore  the  badge  of 
struggling  poverty — all  pricked  and  wounded,  rough 
and  darkened — and  it  called  attention  to  the  thin 
white  hand  and  the  loose,  loose  wedding  ring. 

"  Come,  dear!  "  said  the  summoning  voice — but  I 
halted  long  enough  to  drag  off  a  glove  and  hold  tight 
in  mine  the  hand  of  the  unknown  woman,  who  starved 
on  the  mountain  for  the  grey  old  Atlantic,  and  prayed 
to  her  God  for  the  welfare  of  a  stranger! 


XXI 
A  MEMORY  OF  DION   BOUCICAULT 

I  HAD  acted  in  Dion  Boucicault's  plays  ever  since 
I  had  been  in  the  ballet.  I  had  heard  of  him, 
read  of  him,  but  I  had  never  seen  him  until  one 
night  when  Col.  Donn  Piatt,  who  was  in  the  city  in 
the  interest  of  his  Washington  paper,  came  to  my 
dressing-room  to  offer  congratulations  and  to  add 
further: 

"  I  meant  never  again  to  repeat  to  you  a  compli- 
ment, knowing  how  sure  a  way  It  is  to  get  into  your 
black  book  as  a  suspected  hypocrite,  but  just  this 
once  more  I  will  take  the  risk.  Dion  Boucicault  is 
in  front," — heaven !  how  my  mental  eye  flew  back 
over  my  work! — "and  when  you  first  came  on  the 
scene  he  started  so  violently  as  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  several.  '  Good  heaven ! '  he  exclaimed,  and 
held  his  eyes  closed  a  moment,  then  looked  again 
and  again  exclaimed:  'Is  this  a  reincarnation?' 
Suddenly  he  turned  to  me.  '  You  must  see  it,'  he 
said.  '  When  you  were  an  attache  of  the  legation 
at  Paris,  you  must  have  done  the  theatres  thoroughly, 
and  don't  you  see  who  Is  moving,  speaking,  smiling 
there  before  you?  Even  the  irregular  teeth,  the  up- 
ward curl  at  the   lip   corner,   of — Rose   Cherl?'  I 

352 


DION  BOUCICAULT  353 

nearly  sprang  out  of  my  chair,  for  he  had  traced 
and  named  the  likeness  that  you  know  has  tormented 
me  for  two  years.  You  are  wonderfully  like  her." 

"  Some  one  is  knocking,  Marie,"  and  as  Marie 
opened  the  door  an  imploring  voice,  with  a  laugh 
trembling  through  it,  reached  us,  saying:  "  Couldn't 
I  be  coming  in  now  too.  Colonel?  I  want  to  make 
sure,  my  boy,  whether  it's  Rose  or  Clara  I'm  seeing 
act."  And  then  we  were  shaking  hands  and  he, 
with  a  gurgle  of  malicious  laughter,  was  saying: 
"Look  at  the  girl  blushing.  Colonel  dear!  That 
ever  I  should  live  to  see  the  like  of  that  I  " 

"  It's  paint,"  I  said. 

"  It's  not,"  said  he,  "  and  you're  more  like  Rose 
at  short  range  than  long." 

"Oh!"  I  groaned,  sorrowfully,  glancing  at  the 
reflection  in  my  glass.  "  Did  she,  too,  have  a  high 
cheek-bone,  dropping  an  oblique  line  swiftly  to  the 
chin?  Did  her  short,  straight  nose  end  with  the 
roundness  of  a  cherry?  Ah,  the  poor  soul!  " 

"  The  poor  nothing  at  all !  "  indignantly  exclaimed 
Mr.  Boucicault.  "  Let  me  tell  you  Rose  Cheri  was 
a  Parisian  favourite  of  the  highest  order,  and  an 
artist  to  her  finger-tips." 

"  I  know  that,  my  dear  sir,  incredible  as  the  state- 
ment may  seem  to  you;  but  you  did  not  honour  me 
by  saying  my  work  resembled  hers.  That  indeed 
would  have  been  something  to  exult  over.  You  said 
I  looked  astonishingly  like  her,  and  I  expressed  my 
sympathy  for  her." 

"  Well,  your  sympathy  seems  to  me  a  thinly  sugar- 


354  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

coated  ridicule,  but  of  course  you  are  quite  innocent 
of  satire." 

"  I  have  read  and  acted  the  plays  of  Dion  Bouci- 
cault,"  I  meekly  answered. 

"  Oh,  Colonel !  "  he  laughed,  "  she's  given  her 
red  lips  just  a  touch  of  the  blarney-stone !  " 

"  Plain  women  are  all  supposed  to  have  sharp 
tongues,"  I  smiled. 

"  Yes,  but  they  don't  all  have  sharp  wits — which 
reminds  me,  I'd  like  to  know  what  you  thought  of 
Modjeska  the  other  night.  I  saw  you  in  the  box 
at  the  premiere." 

"  I  thought  her  a  very  remarkable  actress.  She 
has,  I  believe,  given  so  much  thought,  study  and 
polish  to  her  work  that  her  action  seems  impulse, 
her  gestures  accidental.  Only  a  sister  actress  ap- 
preciates the  cost  of  such  naturalness  as  hers." 

"  You  frowned  often,  though,  let  me  tell  you." 

"  That  was  when  her  English  bothered  me." 

"Ah!"  he  went  on,  impatiently,  throwing  him- 
self into  the  chair  he  had  hitherto  leaned  upon.  "  It 
was  bad — I  was  disappointed." 

"  Good  heaven,  man !  Make  some  allowance  for 
a  first  night!  Her  English  was  much  improved 
when  the  passing  of  stage-fright  had  released  her 
stiffened  lips.  I'd  like  to  see  you  pass  through  such 
an  ordeal.  You  have  called  me  clever — oh,  I  know, 
because  Mr.  Daly  told  me  so — but  can  you  imagine 
my  playing  such  a  part  in  a  foreign  tongue?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  a  Pole,  and,  like  all  her  people,  in- 
herits the  gift  of  tongues," 


DION  BOUCICAULT  355 

"  Well,  you  have  not  inherited  the  quality  of  jus- 
tice," I  petulantly  answered. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "  I  had  been  helping  them 
at  rehearsals.  Yes,  Sargent  was  very  anxious  to 
know  my  opinion  of  his  new  star.  I  was  cold  over 
a  foreign  experiment,  but,  by  Jove !  if  you  could  have 
seen  that  woman  act  at  rehearsal!  Why,  say,  you 
think  her  superior  to  the  ordinary  leading  woman, 
don't  you?" 

"Good  heaven,  man!"  I  cried,  "did  I  not  tell 
you  she  is  a  most  remarkable  woman  and  a  true 
artist?" 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  just  the  difference  and 
superiority  that  you  find  between  her  and  the  general 
leading  lady,  is  the  difference  and  the  superiority  I 
find  in  her  day-work  over  her  night-work.  Don't 
ask  me  to  explain  it — I  cannot !  Just  one  single 
instant  at  night  she  reached  to  the  effect  of  the  morn- 
ing.    At  the  defiance  of  the  duchess " 

"  Oh,  I  know !  "  I  broke  in.  "  You  mean  where 
Adrienne  stands  left  of  stage,  and  with  head  up, 
eyes  gleaming  and  her  contemptuously  curled  lips 
showing  her  white  teeth — "  (he  nodded  quickly)  ; 
"  she  was  a  real  figure  of  Indomitable  courage." 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "that  was  superb;  it  was  a 
great  moment  and  the  house  thrilled  to  it — but  at 
rehearsal  the  *  Two  Pigeons  '  fable — well,  it  put  a 
lump  in  my  dry  old  throat.  I've  seen  every  Adri- 
enne of  note  that  has  appeared  in  the  last  thirty 
years,  and  I  suppose  it's  heresy  to  say  it,  but  I  think 
the  mighty  original,  Rachel,  gave  the  fable  too  tragic 


156 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 


a  tone,  bore  down  too  heavily  upon  that  one  note; 

though   later  on   in   the   play "    He   lifted   his 

hands  high  and  bowed  his  head  in  reverence.  "  And 
the  golden-voiced  one  of  Paris  to-day  reads  the  fable 
delightfully.  But  that  morning's  reading  of  the 
Polish  actress — by  Jove!  To  a  perfect  method  ofj 
delivery  she  added  dignity  and  pathos,  a  most  un- 
usual combination  that,  either  on  the  stage  or  in 
real  life !  For  when  real  feeling  arrives,  dignity  gen- 
erally departs.  I  said  to  Sargent:  'You're  right,, 
my  boy;  you  have  found  a  crown-jewel!  If  Itl 
can  shine  like  this  by  day,  what  will  gas-light  do 
for  it?'  Yet  that  same  speech  broke  my  heart  at 
night." 

"  Your  heart !  "  I  cried.  "  You  haven't  got  one 
to  break!  " 

He  grinned  amiably.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  have,"  he  said,  | 
" — an   artistic   one.  And   it's   tender,   too.  But   are 
you  by  chance  acquainted  with  this  good  lady  you 
are  putting  up  your  hands  for  so  readily?" 

"No,  I  do  not  know  her"   (that  pleasure  camci 
later  on),  "  and  the  public  will  put  up  its  hands  for 
her  quickly  enough,  for,  mark  you,  Mr.  Boucicault, 
she  is  going  to  be  that  card  to  bank  on — a  woman's 
favourite!  " 

"  From  the  lips  of  babes  and  sucklings "  he 

jeered. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  "  I  responded.   "  I  guess  I've 
been  weaned — at  least  from  prejudice." 

"Boucicault,    you    had    better    let    her    alone,"] 
laughed  Colonel  Piatt. 


DION  BOUCICAULT  357 

"  As  you  seem  to  speak  from  a  painful  experience, 
I'll  be  warned  in  time.  But  I'm  not  through  yet 
with  that  play  and  player.  The  piece  Is  as  artificial 
as  a  bunch  of  tissue-paper  roses." 

"  But,"  I  Interjected,  "  It  gives  splendid  oppor- 
tunities to  an  actress." 

"  Egad,  it  had  to  give  chances  for  acting  If  any 
one  hoped  to  get  Rachel  Into  the  play." 

Rather  hesitatingly,  I  remarked,  "  It  always 
seemed  to  me,  the  death  scene  was  too  long — for 
nature,  at  least." 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  excitedly,  "you're  a  joy  to  a 
man's  heart!  For  nature.  Is  It?  Yes,  and  for  art, 
too.  Never  rack  your  audience.  Touch  'em — thrill 
'em — chill  'em — but  never  s-t-r-a-I-n  'em!"  He 
dragged  the  word  "  strain "  out  with  real  effect. 
"  The  death  scene,  if  indifferently  played,  is  too  long. 
If  perfectly  played,  it  Is  too  damnably  long  for 
human  endurance!  And  It  was  right  there  you 
frowned  the  hardest,  too,  my  Rose !  Now,  was  that 
all  for  the  play,  or  part  for  the  acting?  " 

"  Colonel  Piatt,"  I  said,  "  this  man  hungers  and 
thirsts  for  a  disparaging  word  about  a  truly  noble 
performance." 

"  But  not  absolutely  perfect,  eh?  "  broke  In  Boucl- 
cault.  "  Come  now,  no  performance  can  be  that, 
because  humanity  cannot  attain  perfection.  Why, 
I'm  an  extra-good  actor  myself,  yet  you  can  find  some 
slight  blemishes  In  my  work.  Even  a  great  poet 
may " 

"  My   dear  man,   you    are   too   modest.  You    do 


358  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

yourself  a  cruel  wrong.  Who  could  criticise  the  art 
of  a  Boucicault?"  I  mockingly  demanded. 

"  At  all  events,"  declared  Colonel  Piatt,  "  one 
never  nods  when  Boucicault  acts." 

"  A-ah,  Colonel,  I'll  come  to  your  wake  for  that  1  " 
said  the  grateful  one. 

"  Don't,"  pleaded  the  other.  "  If  you  have  a 
grudge  against  me,  take  your  revenge  now.  A  man 
does  not  need  to  be  an  actor  to  want  to  hold  the  cen- 
tre of  the  stage  at  his  last  appearance  on  earth — so 
just  send  regrets  and  don't  wake  me." 

Boucicault  looked  hurt.  "  Well,  as  you  like,"  he 
sighed.  Then  to  me:  "  I'm  always  at  my  best  when 
waking  a  man  that's  shared  good  tobacco  and  liquor 
with  me.  And  now  you'll  be  comforting  me  with  the 
explanation  of  that  frown !  " 

"  Oh,  good  mercy!  "  I  cried,  "  how  you  do  badger 
one !  The  only  fault  I  saw  in  the  newcomer's  playing 
of  Adrienne — ^which  in  all  probability  was  wholly 
due  to  first-night  anxiety — ^was  this:  That  that  long 
agony,  those  physical  tortures  resulting  from  an  irri- 
tant poison,  those  dreadful  recoveries  from  collapse 
and  spasm,  that  wore  her  out  bodily — they  still  left 
her  splendid  voice  clear  and  fairly  full  and  expressive 
of  love  to  the  last.  Now,  the  voice  dies  as  surely 
as  the  rest  of  the  body.  And  this  brilliant  stranger 
within  our  gates  probably  knows  that  quite  as  well 
as  we  do.  I  have  seen  very  few  Adriennes,  com- 
pared with  your  amazing  list,  but  one  of  them,  a 
German  " — he  twisted  up  his  face  and  gave  a  pro- 


I 


DION  BOUCICAULT  359 

testing  little  groan — "oh,  wait  a  moment,  please; 
this  actress  happened  to  bear  the  name  of  Seebach." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  interrupted,  contritely. 

"  Beg  hers!  "  I  said,  sharply. 

"  I  do — I  beg  Marie's  pardon,  for  she  was  a  bril- 
liant actress." 

"  Well,"  I  went  on,  "  in  that  act  she  was  the  most 
pitiful  scrap  of  humanity,  and  somehow  she  gave  you 
the  impression  that  her  greatest  agony  was  mental. 
The  parting  from  her  love  seemed  more  awful  than 
parting  from  dear  life.  And  her  voice  roughened, 
became  husky,  and  at  the  last  was  a  mere  thread — it 
waned  as  her  strength  waned.  And  when  it  was  all 
ended,  what  on  earth  she  did  to  herself  I  can't  im- 
agine, but  as  she  lay  huddled  in  the  depth  of  that  big 
chair,  her  poor  shrunken  little  body  looked  no  larger 
than  a  child's  of  twelve  years,"  Dreading  a  satirical 
laugh,  I  went  on.  "  Of  course,  I  knew  she  could  not 
have  contracted  and  shrivelled  away  like  that,  but  if 
a  true  magician  makes  us  see  what  does  not  exist,  why 
may  not  an  intensely  sensitive  and  sincere  actor  do 
the  same?  " 

"Oh!"  answered  Boucicault,  lightly,  "people 
often  read  beauties  into  an  actor's  work  that  he  never 
thought  of  himself." 

"  Well,  even  so,  must  there  not  be  first  some  po- 
tent, magnetic  power  in  the  actor  to  arouse  the  dor- 
mant imagination  of  the  spectator  to  these  concep- 
tions?" 

"  By  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar!  "  he  exclaimed, 


36o  THE  LIFE    OF  A  STAR 

excitedly,  "  you  woolly  little  Westerner,  I  believe 
you've  answered  one  of  my  oldest  puzzles!  Piatt, 
I've  seen  men — clever  men,  mind  you — sit  through 
the  same  performance  of  the  only  Rachel  and  come 
forth  with  astonishingly  different  conceptions  of  the 
character  she  had  so  splendidly  portrayed  before 
them.  One  would  see  in  it  the  very  quintessence  of 
polished  evil,  the  other  find  it  an  uplifting  personifi- 
cation of  noble  tragedy.  One  woman  would  weep 
over  her  as  a  suffering  victim,  while  another  would 
shrink  from  her  as  she  would  from  a  jewelled  flask 
of  deadly  poison.  And  I  used  to  puzzle  over  it  all — 
and  here  this  creature,  that  never  saw  the  frail 
giantess,  gives  me  the  cue.  She  awakened  their 
imagination  and  each  one  saw  her  work  through  the 
medium  of  his  own  individuality — What  the  devil  do 
you  want,  boy?  A-ah,  don't  mind  him,  Rose!  "  (as 
I  started  violently  at  the  sight  of  the  call-boy  at  my 
door) — "  Go  on!  "  said  my  visitor,  commandingly, 
"tell  them  to  play  another  overture!  " 

"  Do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  countermanded. 
"  I'm  ready — call  the  act — and  go  on." 

Mr.  Boucicault  turned  to  his  companion,  saying: 
"And  she  with  such  a  hospitable  look  on  her  face! 
Would  you  have  thought  it  of  her — turning  a  pair  of 
well-meaning  old  chaps  out  of  doors?" 

"  If  you  were  the  manager "  I  began. 

"  Well,  I'm  not,"  he  laughed. 

"  Where's  your  golden  rule?  "  I  sternly  Inquired. 

"  The  divil  a  bit  of  me  knows !  I  could  never  live 
by  rule,  golden  or  otherwise !  " 


DION  BOUCICAULT  361 

"  Boucicault,"  cried  Colonel  Piatt,  "  you  haven't 
told  so  many  truths  in  a  month  of  Sundays !  " 

"Why  not  follow  my  example,  Colonel?  You 
used  to  be  fond  of  a  rare  experiment  in  the  old  days." 

"Everybody  ready!"  called  the  boy  outside. 

Pausing  at  the  doorway,  which  was  two  steps  up 
from  the  stage-level,  my  actor  visitor  looked  off 
across  the  stage.  "  Ah,"  he  commented,  "  that's  a 
good-looking  juvenile  woman  you  have  there,  but 
she  should  change  her  dressmaker.  Her  body — or 
waist,  as  you  call  it  in  America — is  ruined  by  her 
'  darts.'  They  are  too  high  and  too  close,  and  push 
her  figure  all  out  of  shape.  She  didn't  look  so  bad 
as  that  in  the  first  act,  when  those  infernal  '  darts  ' 
were  shorter.  When  a  woman's  dress  can  be  built 
without  them,  the  world  will  have  rolled  a  good  way 
toward  the  millennium." 

For  this  wonderful  man — who  at  nineteen  had 
written  "  London  Assurance,"  a  play  that  simply  will 
not  die,  even  when  battered  by  the  blows  of  ama- 
teurs— this  same  actor-author,  knew  every  trick,  de- 
vice or  secret  of  stage  beauty.  Too  many  women 
had  he  discovered,  trained  and  presented  to  the  pub- 
lic not  to  appreciate  the  value  of  a  perfect  line  or 
curve;  not  to  shrink  from  the  tragedy  of  a  too  high, 
uppushing  dart,  or  an  exaggerated  and  unnatural 
coiffure. 

I  did  not  go  on  till  the  middle  of  the  scene,  so  my 
visitors  took  leisurely  leave.  Mr.  Boucicault  had 
paid  me  a  very  gracious  compliment,  which  I  told 
him  I  valued  greatly  as  coming  from  the  author  of 


362  THE  LIFE  OF  A  STAR 

"  London  Assurance  " — at  which  he  gave  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders  and  a  contemptuous  sniff,  that  made 
Colonel  Piatt  say  quickly:  "My  dear  Bouclcault, 
you're  not  going  to  have  the  affectation  to  depreciate 
the  fine  old  play  whose  fame  will  outlast  all  your 
money-winners?  " 

"  Why,  how  can  you  expect  me  to  have  a  tender 
feeling  for  the  play  the  critics  use  as  a  sort  of  gad 
to  whale  me  with,  every  time  I  make  a  failure?  " 
asked  the  actor-author,  with  assumed  indignation. 

"Failure?"  asked  Piatt.  "I  did  not  know  you 
ever  made  a  failure." 

I  could  feel  my  smile  approaching  the  dimensions 
of  a  grin,  and  quickly  Mr.  Bouclcault  exclaimed, 
"  Well,  you  know  of  one.  Rose — judging  from  your 
Cheshire-cat  expression,  I  think  you  do." 

And  I  modestly  confessed,  "  I  have  played  Jeze- 
bel— In  your  play  by  that  name,  sir." 

"  Oh,  God  be  good  to  us !  " — and  he  took  his  head 
between  his  hands  and  groaned — "  but  that  was  the 
grand  failure !  But  I  can  never  do  much  when  I  try 
to  write  to  order.  That  was  for  Charles  Mathews 
and  his  wife.  Well,  laugh  if  you  like,  and  I  don't 
mind  laughing  with  you,  for  there's  not  a  part  In  the 
play  either  one  of  'em  could  act.  Well,  whenever  I 
do  a  light  bit  of  work  the  critics  cry  aloud  and  haul 
up  '  London  Assurance  ' — the  brilliant  promise  of 
my  youth — and  point  out  Its  superiority  over  the 
feeble  and  meretricious  productions  of  my  maturity. 
It's  always  by  the  '  Assurance  '  they  prove  to  the  pub- 
lic the  disappointment  I  am !  " 


DION  BOUCICAULT  363 

"  Well,"  I  broke  in,  "  sneer  at  the  critics — not  at 
'  London  Assurance,'  which  must  have  been  a  vitally 
true  picture  of  life,  because  when  presented  to- 
day, after  all  the  years  past,  it  is  neither  out  of  draw- 
ing nor  too  highly  coloured — its  vitality  seems  to  be 
the  vitality  of  truth.  Now  look  at  '  The  Lady  of 
Lyons,'  three  years  older — put  that  play  on  in  mod- 
ern dress  and  it  would  instantly  become  a  superb  bur- 
lesque. Everything  in  it  seems  so  unnatural,  so  arti- 
ficial!" 

"Humph!  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Boucicault.  "  It  was 
an  unnatural  and  artificial  picture  of  life  when  Bul- 
wer  made  it." 

I  fairly  clapped  my  hands  for  satisfaction.  "  Ah, 
you  can  afford  to  be  proud  of  the  ever-youthful,  be- 
cause ever-truthful,  '  London  Assurance.'  " 

"Piatt,  is  my  head  turned  around  entirely?"  he 
asked.  But  he  squeezed  my  fingers  hard  and  tapped 
the  back  of  my  hand  .kindly  all  the  time.  "  It's  an 
honest  little  porcupine,"  he  smiled,  "  that  sets  up  its 
quills  alike  in  defence  of  the  just  and  the  unjust!  I 
must  go — must  I  ?  Well,  I  always  accept  a  dismissal 
without  argument — though  it  would  have  been  no 
killing  matter  to  give  me  that  second  overture.  Piatt, 
if  you  hold  her  hand  any  longer  it  will  cost  her  a 
dollar  stage-wait!  Good-by,  Rose  Cheri !  "  And  Mr. 
Boucicault  and  his  friend  turned  toward  the  front 
of  the  house. 

THE    END 


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